


This Ridiculous Obsession with Love

by flickerthenflare



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Drama, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Prostitution, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 59,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flickerthenflare/pseuds/flickerthenflare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt came to New York to get discovered, not fall in love. By mistaking a sex worker for the Broadway producer he was supposed to meet, Kurt’s elaborate plans to become a star get thrown off course. A Moulin Rouge-inspired AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here We Are Now

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for whole story: Prostitution, dub-con, attempted non-con and mention of past non-con, some unsafe sex, homophobia, transphobia, racism, sexism, and violence. Nothing warned for is graphic. Attitudes expressed by various characters do not reflect the author’s.

Will Schuester was more attractive than he expected. Kurt almost dropped his pants at the sight of him.

Kurt had been standing with his skinny jeans half off for the better part of the last ten minutes – feeling ridiculous and more nervous every agonizingly slow second– just so he could shimmy into them _after_ hearing the knock on his dressing room door and inviting the stranger in. The scenario he’d concocted for Will Schuester felt forced, and ten kinds of cliché but actors were given unoriginal material to work with all the time. 

He desperately wanted to be an actor.

“I wasn’t expecting to have a guest backstage so –” Kurt stumbled when he saw, really saw, his handsome visitor. “– so soon.”

It was the curls. How could a man with curls be intimidating? They really were his most defining feature; Rachel had been right about that. Loose, dark, sweeping curls heavily styled to be less corkscrewed than their coarse texture implied. Kurt found himself wondering how they would feel. He might be able to get away with pulling them if this plan worked right. They were bound to tighten with perspiration and show Kurt what they were actually like. For once Kurt let his fantasies play out instead of pushing them out of mind. Finding Will attractive made everything easier, and Kurt was going to embarrass himself anyway so what was the worst it could do?

Will smiled charmingly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kurt. Your show was spectacular. I was at the edge of my seat every time you were on stage. I’m glad your friend told me to watch it before meeting you.”

Kurt blushed and swayed coyly. Compliments were a good way to start. Most of his questionable choices he justified to himself for the sake of compliments. While he’d justified this whole seduce-Will-Schuester-for-fame-and-fortune plan to himself already, more rationale wouldn’t hurt. 

“The show’s been a great opportunity for me. Off the beaten path and – and unknown but it’s a start – for them and me.” His voice came out higher than ever. He bit back a wince and fumbled to get his jeans up; his limited experience with men taught him high-pitched was hardly ever a desirable feature. He needed to get his nerves under control. The show Kurt was just praising was over with no hope of a tour or a revival; it wasn’t an opportunity for anyone. This was the last chance it afforded him.

“I’m such a fan of your work,” Kurt enthused, trying again. It was only partially a lie – he’d been too young and too far away from New York to experience the height of Will Schuester’s career on Broadway before he turned producer. He was a fan of the work Will had obviously _had done_ on himself to look devastating at his age. 

_When I’m rich and famous and ten years older, I’m getting his plastic surgeon._

Kurt kicked his legs up over the couch to zip up his knee-high boot, consciously resisting biting his lip. Trying to flaunt himself like this felt stilted no matter how he practiced. His style was fabulous, not what was underneath. 

At least Will’s eyes were trained on him. A smile teased at the corners of his lips. “Aren’t your clothes going in the wrong direction?”

“Hmm?” Kurt dropped the zipper to check his seams. They couldn’t be inside out. It wasn’t possible for this to be more mortifying. If he couldn’t dress himself properly, he had nothing! Right before the meeting, he made a mental list of everything he would be tempted to do but absolutely needed to avoid – no strange accents that may or may not be based on Judy Garland’s, no absently twirling objects between his fingers in a way that made him look like an escaped circus freak, nowhere in the introduction process should he curtsy like he was meeting royalty – Kurt didn’t realize he had so many strange tics until he started making the list but he never would guess that dressing himself would be a problem.

With a teasing wink, Will slid the dropped boot zipper back down. “You keep adding more.” Will slipped his fingers in to rub along Kurt’s calf.

Kurt jolted at the unexpected touch. The heel of his boot caught on the cushion as he swung it down and he stumbled backward. Instinctively, Kurt’s arms windmilled out to catch his fall. Will grabbed at Kurt to steady him. They both overcorrected and Kurt smashed face-first into Will’s chest with Will holding him mostly upright.

“Whoa, there. See, this is where clothes get you.” Will crinkled his nose.

Kurt stumbled with Will’s help as he got his feet back underneath him. He ducked his head to hide his blush. Sure, they had physical contact this way, but sliding around like Bambi on ice over dressing himself wouldn’t convince Will that Kurt was capable of _anything_ sexual. The way Will caught him with one hand high on his waist and the other on his shoulder has them in a mock dance position. Kurt resisted bringing a hand up to check his hair. Hairspray that held as tightly as his could withstand a lot more than a minor tumble.

They were so close like this. If he swayed a little more their lips would touch. His eyes trained right on Will’s full lips and made him blush. His mind got ahead of him again, fast forwarding to how this night was going to end. Those lips were going to be on him and he was going to play with those curls.

_I’m actually doing this,_ he thought. He wasn’t running away in horror. The first touch had startled but not unsettled him, and he didn’t mind that Will had yet to let go. Having a cute, compact man so close didn’t intimidate him. He teased rather than claimed. Kurt was steady on his feet again, but Will didn’t retreat. 

Will smoothed his hand on Kurt’s shoulders down his arm and back. “What do you want?” he asked huskily. 

He liked Will’s voice. He spoke like he was sharing a secret. Kurt was humming with nervousness but didn’t feel scared. This was the moment. He’d come to NYC with nothing: he knew how to take a chance on himself. He plunged in. “You have a lot of sway,” Kurt began. “I’m working to become an actor.” 

“I could see you in pictures,” Will agreed. His voice was soft, a hint of promise in it. His hand on Kurt’s waist burned through the layers.

“Now that the show I’m in is over, I’d like to establish myself with some original work.”

Will arched an eyebrow in interest.

“I – I’ve written my own show. I have the script here. Let me read some for you?”

“So I’m here for a private reading, am I?” 

Oh, that sexy whisper did things to Kurt. He nodded. Let Will interpret that how he wanted: Kurt would be good either way. Well, he wanted the show so, so much more of course, but if he got two things out of this deal he could be flexible on the order. 

“Is it a love story?”

“Actually, it’s about ambition.”

Will looked momentarily taken aback, no doubt intending to build of the response he expected Kurt to give. Maybe he gave the wrong answer. Was it possible to give the wrong answer when asked the subject of your show? Will had to be interested in the material for Kurt to succeed. Ambition was a harder sell than the supposedly universal but terribly elusive ideal of love.

Will smiled. “That’s a kind of love story. I want to hear all about your _ambitions._ ”

They both startled at a knock on the door. Kurt bumped into the couch again. He resisted toppling completely. Will’s grip tightened. 

“Hello?” The knocks repeated. “Hello? I’m looking for Kurt Hummel. It’s Will Schuester.”

Kurt could swear his heart stopped. “It’s . . .” His hands flung to his mouth in horror. “Oh no!” 

He wheeled on the man next to him. The imposter Will didn’t have the sense to look more than mildly startled. “Who’s that?”

“You! What were you doing pretending to be someone else?” Kurt demanded. The shoulder not-Will had been gripping felt cold now that they separated. He stiffened at the realization that he missed the touch of someone who didn’t matter. He had terrible luck.

“Casting couch roleplay? That seemed to be what you were initiating. You had me come to your _dressing room._ ”

Kurt’s stomach turned. “You’re not really a Broadway producer willing to make me a star in exchange for an illicit tryst?” 

Not-Will shook his head with a laugh. “Of course not. If I knew a Broadway producer I’d be having that illicit tryst myself. Your friend, Santana, arranged for me to help you with your ‘sexual inexperience problem’? My name’s Blaine,” he added as an afterthought.

“You’re not a _joke_?”

_Blaine_ – not Will – winced. “I should have explained. I thought you knew –”

“Get out before you ruin everything.” 

He had to do this. Again. Kurt used up his very limited supply of sexy on _Blaine_. There was no sexy left. The clothes thing was his only trick, and that was always more about the clothes. He couldn’t take off his pants again now that Blaine was in the room – that gave an entirely different impression. 

“There’s only one door . . .” Blaine observed slowly.

Nowhere to hide either, at least not for long. “What am I supposed to do about letting him in when there’s already a strange man in my dressing room?” Kurt hissed. He needed Blaine out of the way somehow.

Blaine considered. “Is he the jealous type?”

“Notoriously so.” How could Blaine escape knowing the basics about Broadway legends? Oh, Kurt should have known better than to not recognize Will Schuester!

“White Knight complex?”

“Yes.”

“Then this will work just fine. Scream.”

Kurt blinked at him. He didn’t know what to make of that direction. Blaine pinched his side.

“Ow! Stop that!” Kurt jerked away. He took back every kind, over-eager thought he had about Blaine for being handsome and kind, since he’d clearly been misled about the second quality. 

“Kurt?” The voice outside the door repeated. “Are you in there?”

_Sorry,_ Blaine mouthed at Kurt. He pulled his hand away to show he meant no harm but gestured for Kurt to do something. “Louder this time.”

The pieces clicked. Victim was his least favorite role but he could play it. Instances like this were the reason why he learned how to cry on command, right? Kurt followed Blaine’s direction and repeated the command for Blaine to stop more loudly. Kurt pressed back against the couch he kept stumbling over. He hated improv. 

“Come in!” he called. He allowed panic to slip into his voice. “Blaine, take a hint and get out!” In contrast to his words, Kurt pulled Blaine closer and positioned him so it would look like Blaine was crowding up against him instead of doing his damnedest to maintain a respectful distance.

With a quick brush of his fingertips, Blaine disheveled Kurt’s lapel. “Don’t fall on your face, dummy,” he said under his breath, “and you’ll be just fine.”

A moment later Blaine was tossed to the side and Kurt was staring up right into the face of the real Will Schuester.


	2. Spectacular, Spectacular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Moulin Rouge influenced story.  
> Warnings for whole story: Prostitution, dub-con, attempted non-con and mention of past non-con, some unsafe sex, homophobia, transphobia, racism, sexism, and violence, Attitudes expressed by various characters do not reflect the author’s.

How could he have mistaken one for the other? The real Will Schuester was 15-20 years older than Kurt. He was taller than Kurt. Significantly more so than not-Will. He did have curls, just as Rachel had described, but Kurt didn’t have to fight the same urge to pet his curls as he did with not-Will. Wanting to touch someone else was kind of a big deal for him. And while he really hadn’t minded at the time, had been so surprisingly okay with it, withstanding a stranger’s hands on him must have exhausted him because a second time with a new stranger seemed too much to cope with. A shudder wracked his whole body. Something must’ve come over him the first time; he didn’t _want_ so blatantly like that and the repulsion he felt now at being touched by the real Will Schuester must be the backlash.

Blaine’s theatrics worked wonders. Kurt had an excuse for his shaky voice and his fumbling as he apologized for his disheveled appearance. 

“He’s infatuated with me. He’s never been so insistent before.” He forced himself to cling to Will’s protective arms when Will pulled him there like he needed comfort. Or like he would seek out comfort in that way from a complete stranger. _Acting. Acting, acting, acting._ He had to keep that in mind, that he was still playing a character even if the name and the backstory were the same. Normal people would accept a stranger’s comforting touch. Kurt didn’t fit right in the embrace and had to resist wiggling to find a way to make the position slightly less uncomfortable. 

Will looked oddly pleased to be needed. “Good thing I came along.” 

Kurt really hated this role.

***

Blaine took a moment to collect himself on the other side of the dressing room door. It wouldn’t do to look anything less than composed. Sometimes a job couldn’t be finished. He’d been kicked out of a session with a client under more unusual circumstances. There was no need to feel disappointed just because this one was with the cutest of all the chorus boys. 

He spotted Santana down the ancient hallway and gave a little wave. 

“You’re going the wrong way, Fancy. Dressing room’s down that hall.”

“It looks like he’s just fine losing it on his own. I still helped though!” He forced a cheerful smile. It wasn’t likely to get him the rest of his money but worth a try. Being cheerful was always worth trying.

“ _Helped,_ huh? I don’t know what you learned from _Mean Girls,_ but there’s no such thing as half a virgin. Finish the job. Now.”

“You didn’t say anything about a time limit! Or a boyfriend or fling or seductive financer or whoever’s in there now.”

Santana glowered. The kind of glower that had Blaine looking over his shoulder for a reason to escape. Social cues weren’t Blaine’s forte but he’d gotten better at guessing when he was about to be in trouble. Santana looked like trouble.

“That tricky little minx moved up his meeting! We’re spying. Go.” 

Santana ushered him right back down the hall he’d come from. Blaine protested less than he should have. There wasn’t a spying clause in his contract, just like there wasn’t any warning that he might get unceremoniously tossed out before he had a chance to earn his pay. This was why Wes had been skeptical about the whole arrangement with Santana. Being a “gift” to someone else always added a risk. 

Kurt wasn’t Blaine’s responsibility, but curiosity got the best of him. As much as it wasn’t his business to know what the most gorgeous man he had ever met was choosing to do with the strange producer – and how much he doubted this story was going to have a happy ending – he couldn’t resist a chance to find out. Or to see Kurt again. God, he was precious when trying to be seductive. All that fumbling a lip biting and oscillating between boldness and shyness. Next time he needed to fake being new at all this he’d have to think of Kurt.

Santana and Blaine crowded at the door to listen in. Kurt’s voice was soft, but Will’s carried enough to make out.

“You have a lot of potential, Kurt. I love talent in young people. If you’re willing to learn, I could fill you with talent.”

Blaine pulled away. “Oh my god, ‘talent’ is his penis, isn’t it?”

He dodged Santana’s elbow. 

“Does the concept of eavesdropping evade you?”

“I can’t believe anyone would mistake me for this tool.” Blaine liked to think he had class. Composure. Absolutely no ridiculously innuendos for his or anyone else’s dick. Sure, he did a lot of tawdry things, but only if the client specifically _asked_ for tawdry. In that case it was just good manners – and good business – to oblige. Tawdry wasn’t Kurt’s style. He seemed sweet.

“A whore’s a whore. Shut up or tell me what they’re saying.”

Kurt was talking again. Blaine couldn’t make it out. He sounded beautiful though. His voice mesmerized Blaine through the entire show. Blaine hadn’t expected to gain much from attending the performance other than an evening’s entertainment: he couldn’t garner information about what type of person his client was if his client was acting, other than whether he was any good at his job. Kurt was very good. For the first twenty minutes of the show he stayed unobserved in the background while Blaine, already bored with the generic star-crossed lovers plot, tried to pick out which chorus boy was the cutest. He heard Kurt’s voice before he spotted the man who matched Santana’s picture; a clear, high voice shone out from the din as one scene transitioned to another. Blaine sat up straighter, eyes away from the chorus boys and back to center stage. Kurt strolled through the fake streets, a hopeful glint in his eye.

Blaine had a modest number of clients who had wanted assistance divesting themselves of their virginity but Kurt was so beautiful, Blaine should be the one paying. That had actually been Santana’s selling point. He was initially going to turn down her offer until she’d whipped out her cell phone and shown him a picture, saying, “Tell me you wouldn’t hit that for free given the opportunity.”

Blaine wasn’t about to do anything for _free,_ but he conceded her point then, and the picture didn’t do Kurt-in-person justice.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Kurt the rest of the show. He didn’t bother to learn the character’s name or pay attention to the rest of the plot unfolding. He wanted the Kurt he saw – the one who made the mundane into something magical – to be real.

Blaine pivoted to face Santana and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. “Santana, are you really going to stop him or is this ineffectual listening at the door pretending that it’s in his best interest just for show?”

Santana bristled. “That’s what you’re getting paid for. Be effectual. You’re my last straw on what to do with him.”

“I’m out here because he asked me to leave. He’s in there with someone else. Willingly.” Blaine looked up at her plaintively. “What would you have me do?”

Santana sighed. “It’s more what I would have him not do. He just had to beat me to the sneaky morally-questionable punch.”

Blaine leaned his head against the door frame again. He couldn’t hear anything. Either Kurt had gotten softer or they weren’t talking.

“Get up. You’re not off the hook yet.”

Like with Santana’s first demand, Blaine thought about protesting, but in truth he was interested in seeing Kurt again rather than just straining to hear his voice, and he’d accept however that might come about. Someone like Kurt was the best kind of work he could ask for. All the time spent trying to please authoritative older men in suits had Blaine questioning how deep his daddy issues ran. Given a second opportunity his response was the same: he’d take a chance on Kurt.

***

His thumb hovered over the dial button. _Sue will notice if your voice waivers and be meaner for it. Take a moment and breathe._ He ran his free hand along the couch edge for comfort, distracted briefly by the texture. He placed one more call to his agent. 

“Do you have anything I can audition for?” he asked without preamble. “I don’t care if it’s unconventional.” Breathy but stable. He’d take it. 

“If I had something you’d know about it.”

“Give me something I’m wrong for. I don’t care.” He paused to force his voice lower. “I’ll make it work.” He auditioned once for a child’s role, in line with teenagers and their parents, feeling ancient and like he regressed to high school at the same time.

“Porcelain. I admire your conviction that the viewing public will see you as anything but a freak when we live in a culture where the appeal of one of the top rated reality shows is laughing at how unaware hopeful contestants are of how much they sucked. You think people care about your dreams? If I send you to the wrong audition, you will be a joke.” 

“But I don’t –”

“Enjoy closing night. Go to your debacherous cast party. You’ll be calmer tomorrow.”

“When I’m unemployed?” 

“That’s part of the business. Uncertainty builds character actors.”

“Sue,” Kurt protested. He thought calling his agent might calm him. The snappy jokes he expected, but being told to _wait_. . . Feeling vulnerable and talking to Sue should not be mixed.

“I don’t hire whiners,” she snapped. She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again it was with a hint more sympathy. “When I have something that you’re even remotely appropriate for I’ll let you know. Sit tight until then.”

Kurt ended the call. The silence of his dressing room echoed in his ears. He needed out.

Kurt slipped back onto the stage. He held back the trembling until he was truly alone, no other actors around or other people to call in a moment of weakness. He’d done it. His script was now in the hands of a renowned Broadway producer. Forget his agent who had nothing for him, he was doing this on his own. Gently, he eased himself to the end of the beaten down little stage and swung his legs over the side, Judy Garland style. When he first landed this role, he’d promised himself to begin and end this way. Kurt was a firm believer in _nothing lasts forever._ It led to a fixation on getting goodbyes right. 

How perfect the tiny theatre – only eight seats per row with an aisle down the middle – had seemed at the beginning. How cramped and run down it grew as the show neared the end of its run and his future prospects never showed up. He had to be careful to not let his feet touch the ground where slightly-raised stage met in-desperate-need-of-a-cleaning floor lest it ruin the illusion. Of course now that the show was over, some of his fondness had returned. Everything seemed dirty in New York; that didn’t mean it couldn’t be magical as well. 

This stage held the honor of being the finest place he’d performed as an actor, beating out a park, a park in the rain, churches, community centers, and repurposed gymnasiums. Along the way he worked with delusional actors; even more delusional, self-important directors; scripts he hated for their clichés they forced him to say; clichés they expected him to be; and ill-fitted costumes from second hand stores that didn’t fit the character/script/time frame either. Of course being employed was better than not, he was grateful for the work each time, but it was never _grand._ He wanted to graduate from low-budget or low-talent. He was supposed to pay his dues but other people get to skip those steps. People who were supposedly good enough. Why not him? What was wrong with him getting to be the one whose dreams came true?

If he kept this up he would start sounding like Rachel. 

He came to New York with the title song from Thoroughly Modern Millie in his head and the same resolve to not go back – _not for the life of me._ He tried a few bars, thrilling at the sound on an empty stage. In his home town ambition was the worst thing - made everyone assume, not inaccurately, you thought you were better than them. There people were content to just happen into their lives instead of create a plan and follow through. And a backup plan in case that one failed. And another plan after that.

He made a lot of promises in that small town that he intended to deliver on, like who would work for him, who would aspire to be him. Kurt closed his eyes to sink into his favorite fantasy: his script turning into a lavish Broadway show, hailed as breaking the mold in contemporary musical theater and singlehandedly revitalizing the genre critics kept prematurely declaring dead.

“Hey,” Tina called softly as she pushed back the curtain. “Can I Judy Garland with you? It’s not my show closing – I’ll understand if you want to do this alone.” 

Enough time passed since his momentary panic for Kurt to accept company graciously. He patted the floor next to him. “We have about 15 minutes before someone will come by to kick us off and then it looks like this stage in my life is over. I wanted to give it a proper send off.”

Kurt closed his eyes. He could imagine the stage bigger, the architecture grander, the floor cleaner, and an audience present. 

He peeked an eye open and saw that Tina closed her eyes as well. She was so good at pretending with him. 

“Getting cast in this show was supposed to be this big, defining moment in my career. It’s a sizeable role. Someone was supposed to walk in here, see my performance, and offer to change my life. It’s closing night. I gave my miracle until the last possible moment to arrive.” 

He wanted more out of this experience than he got. He held the show accountable for lining up the next one. It didn’t, not on its own, and Kurt felt like he failed on that front.

“There’ll be other shows.”

“Oh, yes, I’m making sure of that.” 

Kurt couldn’t help the cold satisfaction that came with making things happen for himself. His competitive streak held strong since his teen years. He was passed over one too many times, usually for things he couldn’t control –his voice, his natural default toward effeminacy that overshadowed however he acted when he was actually acting. He threw himself even harder into performance. They couldn’t keep saying no if he honed every skill possible. Someone, somewhere would have to take a chance on him. Keeping busy made the process feel within his control. One more round of vocal lesson in case three octaves wasn’t good enough. One more dance class. (Really, more than one was necessary to cross the threshold between _endearing_ and _skilled_ ). One more weekend fine-tuning his play so that if no one came around to give him his dream role, he could give it to himself. 

Tina pushed a strand of blue behind her ear. “Did you meet Will Schuester? Did it work?”

Tina, by merit of being his least judgmental friend, was the only one he’s confided his plan in. He had to tell someone. He had to get the pros and cons outside of his own head. True to Kurt’s prediction, she held off on giving her opinions on the matter. Judging by Blaine’s appearance, Santana had either guessed his plan or had horrible timing. He didn’t suspect Tina for a moment.

“We’re going to workshop it,” Kurt confessed. “This tiny blip of a performance on a third-rate stage is not going to be the highlight of my career!” He could barely believe it. He read a portion of his script to a financier he just met and now it was going to be a show. Possibly. Maybe. Depending on if they both followed through. All he had from Schuester was a promise to put a workshop together. No paper work, no contractual obligation. That would come later, assuming there were no kinks in the plan. Promises broke easily. If he treated the show like conception then he should have waited three months before announcing it rather than 30 minutes. Kurt was never good at denying himself things he wanted and he wanted to share the news with _someone._

Tina flung an arm over his shoulder for a sideways hug. “Forget about closing night. I believe we have a _future_ cast party to throw.”


	3. Children of the Revolution

“You switched meeting locations from a restaurant to your _dressing room_?” Rachel gasped. “That’s not what I told you to contact him for!”

Kurt groaned. Rachel was great at stage whispers but never actual ones. Leave it to Santana to tell all of their friends about his late night meeting with Will Schuester, complete with as many insinuations as she could throw around, before he even arrived at the bar. They were all over him the second he walked in. 

“That seems awfully forward, Kurt,” Mercedes said.

Santana looked completely unrepentant for causing this dramatic welcome. “Boy’s crafty. You know Schuester’s reputation. Can’t blame Kurt for using it to his advantage.”

“I can blame you for the sex worker in my dressing room though.” 

“Second of two.” Santana wiggled two fingers at him. “Gotta count yourself now.”

Kurt pulled his best don’t-even-try face and brushed her hand away. 

“Besides. I got you a classy hooker. See? He’s wearing a polo. I asked for non-threatening but smokin’. You’re welcome.”

Kurt did a double take toward Santana’s gesturing. He expected to never see Blaine again – or at least not until the next large holiday or celebration where Santana might see fit to throw a prostitute his way – and yet there Blaine was, chatting happily with Mike, Artie, and Brittany holding their table on the other side of the bar. 

Of course Blaine was attractive. His livelihood depended on it. Same with charming Kurt so thoroughly in the five minutes they’d spent together. He was meant to be charming. 

“You do realize you’re wasting your money and his time. You shouldn’t have dragged him here. I’m not going to sleep with him and you better still pay him.”

“Relax, he got a deposit. No refunds on that so you might as well enjoy.” 

Enjoy. Right. His friends were bound to say something offensive or otherwise inappropriate to Blaine now that Kurt inadvertently revealed Blaine’s occupation. He felt responsible for Blaine, even if Santana invited him. Or kept him there under financial duress, more likely, the pleasure of watching Kurt squirm. _Well, screw that_. As much as Santana’s whole insulting scheme was needling him the wrong way, he didn’t want Blaine to think he was avoiding him for the wrong reasons, which meant he couldn’t get through the evening pretending like Blaine didn’t exist to save himself from further embarrassment. He could be the bigger, politer person who knew none of this was Blaine’s fault. Keep his shield up a little longer and pretend he wasn’t mortified to have his relationship with sex – his strained, nonexistent relationship with sex that still made him look like a suspicious deviant who could _use_ another person like that – as a conversation piece.

Mercedes’ eyes widened as she followed their exchange. “Kurt, honey? I know you’re lonely but prostitutes and sex predators are not your only options.”

“I never said they were.” He kept his voice cool. “Or that I had _designs_ on either of them.”

“Getting a prostitute was a little much, Santana.” Tina turned to eye Blaine as she added, “He does seem lovely, though. He looks so wholesome. Considering.”

“We can’t leave Kurt languishing like this forever. Who would you rather have Kurt give it up to: an obedient pocket-sized prosti-tot that men are begging to bed, or an aging creep who tries to stick it in anyone desperate enough? Who’s going to provide a better _experience_?”

Mercedes waved her off. “Maybe what we heard about Will Schuester and Sunshine Corazon is all an unsubstantiated rumor. Actors get jealous and inventive all the time. Some understudy probably wanted that girl’s role and thought it would delegitimize the work she did to earn it.” 

“Hell, even if Sunshine did sleep with Schuester she deserved it,” Tina argued. “It’s not like putting out made her less talented.”

“That rumor is going to follow her for years.” 

“Especially if you keep spreading it,” Kurt snipped. He only told his least-judgmental friend for a reason. Kurt gritted his teeth in distaste for what he was about to say. “It’s just a rumor. We talked business. It’s not titillating but it’s the truth.” 

He read those trashy articles about the whisperings behind Sunshine’s rise to stardom and he absolutely believed Will took advantage of her naiveté and trust in her benefactor. Kurt wouldn’t have orchestrated a partially-undressed meeting after the curtain fell if he wasn’t certain that’s how Will operated with all his stars, regardless of who the star ended up being. Meeting the real Will Schuester cemented in his mind exactly what kind of man he was, which was close to the tabloid truth. The “interview” Will gave him consisted of personal question after personal question from an interviewer who sat too close and touched too freely at the slightest sign of emotion from Kurt. 

Kurt had no connection to Sunshine and she would never know what he had done but it felt unfair to her to pretend Will was innocent so he could take advantage of Will’s indiscretions. Kurt would be Will Schuester’s show-biz redemption, that first project after a scandal that redirected focus onto his career. Proof that he could discover and promote new talent that he obviously wasn’t sexually interested in. And then once Will was successful again people would believe Sunshine even less. 

“There are some lines you don’t cross even for fame. Even the more ambitious among us know that. Right, Kurt?” Rachel gave him a pointed look.

Kurt clamped down on the incredulous look he wanted to throw Rachel’s way. She chased fame just as much as he did. He learned this from her. A small, mean part of him felt the only difference between them was opportunity. She would make the same questionable decision if she were in his position; she just didn’t think she would. Her career prospects were stronger than his and while she was still looking for her big break, she hadn’t gotten that low yet. He hadn’t gotten to the point of wishing that on her either.

“You wouldn’t, would you? Kurt, this is serious.”

Admitted that he did, in fact, have designs on Will Schuester invited more judgment. But he didn’t want to join in on the moral indictment of what Sunshine had done. Of what he was going to do. 

Santana butted back in before he formulated a response. “Don’t bother trying to act like you’re better than this. I _heard_ you. I heard you, in your dressing room, trying to seduce that producer after your little dress rehearsal with Blaine. Do you care more about what we think than what you’re doing? These three may buy you’re too innocent but I know better than that. Own it.”

Was this what fame would look like – people feeling they had a right to him, a right to know all and judge all because they cared about him? Just on a much larger scale? All conversational roads led to talking about Kurt’s sex life. It was a narcissistic thought, framing his friends as overstepping fans. 

Kurt shrugged with a self-depricating little smirk, in response to his own mind rather than Santana’s demand. No one got this far without some self-centeredness, and he never pretended he didn’t have a fantasy-prone personality.

***

“Kurt found himself a gigolo?” Artie asked. He and Mike and Brittany looked at Blaine in wonder.

Blaine raised his hand in protest. “I prefer any other word for my profession. As long as it doesn’t make me sound like a Jello knockoff or like I’ve skipped going to the gym we’re good.”

“Kurt found himself a boy-whore?”

Blaine nodded. 

“Does this mean Kurt’s going to be less uptight now?” Artie asked. “He doesn’t look less uptight.”

There was no way to subtly watch Kurt ordering at the bar – he tried to figure it out ever since Kurt showed up – but Artie’s comment gave Blaine permission to look. Kurt’s friends huddled around him chattering animatedly while he held himself back. His gaze shifted away from his friends and fell on Blaine, and the flighty quality Blaine picked up on during their first meeting – like he didn’t know what to do with himself – reemerged in Kurt’s gestures as their eyes met. Kurt quickly turned away. When the last of the drinks they ordered were ready Kurt held one gingerly in each hand as he made his way over.

“There’s probably a nicer sounding word like _courtesan,_ ” Mike mused. “Do you have to be a girl for that one?”

Blaine pulled his attention back to the conversation. “There’s _ciscisbeo_ if you want a male equivalent, but this isn’t 18thcentury Italy and my clients are men. A while back Wes wanted a way to address us as a collective and started calling us the Warblers.”

“Wanky.” Santana winked salaciously as she deposited a drink in front of him and then clinked hers against it. “Cheers, queers.”

The look Blaine gave Santana was almost fond as he took a sip. Santana hip-checked Kurt closer to Blaine’s side of the table and waited expectantly for him to claim the spot next to Blaine. Blaine tried to stay on the right side of the line between friendly and inappropriately enthusiastic while Kurt hesitated. Santana pushed but Blaine hoped that at least a part of Kurt wanted to sit beside him as well. He beamed when Kurt slid next to him and bumped Kurt’s shoulder in greeting. 

“But back to Kurt being less uptight,” Artie insisted. “I’ve been trying to get him laid for years!” 

Santana and Artie high fived. 

“Did it work?” Blaine asked. 

Kurt stiffened next to him. Blaine tended to say the wrong thing and not know why. This must be one of those times. Looking around at the rest of the table told him that much. Displeasure shone on Mercedes and Rachel’s faces. Brittany looked confused. Something much more complicated was going on with Tina where “uncomfortable” wasn’t the whole story but definitely part of the mixture.

“I didn’t mean to imply you’re uptight,” Blaine apologized quickly, assuming that’s where they had taken offense. “Or that there’s a correlation between getting laid and becoming less uptight. Sex has the potential to be relaxing but the dismissiveness of telling someone they’ll chill out if they just get laid has unfortunate roots in misogyny that, while it may not be intended when applied to you –”

“No, it is.” Kurt shot a nasty look in Santana and Artie’s direction.

Blaine floundered on how to finish his apology. Confrontations weren’t something he handled well. Given Kurt’s reaction to Santana and Artie he wasn’t even sure who should be apologizing anymore. “Did your meeting . . . ?”

“So, this is about that producer,” Mercedes sighed.

“Did I convince Will Schuester to produce a workshop of my show? Yes,” Kurt answered primly. 

The sudden onslaught of objections drowned each other out with demands of “how?” (Mercedes) and “tell us Santana isn’t telling the truth!” (Rachel) and “what is everyone talking about?” (Brittany).

Blaine forced an upbeat smile to win Kurt back over while Kurt glared at his friends. It worked out best for everyone when Blaine’s clients liked him. He kept his voice low, aiming for friendly over overtly seductive but intended just for Kurt to hear, as he leaned in closer than necessary. “I believe you offered to do a reading for me. I’m going to hold you to that.” He wrinkled his nose to seem nonthreatening. Kurt’s wide-eyed reaction didn’t tell him if he succeeded or not.

Tina came to Kurt’s rescue by chiming a fork against her glass and raising it. “Okay, everyone. We’re here to celebrate. Not only should we toast to Kurt’s fantastic run off-Broadway –”

“Or Off-Off-Broadway,” Kurt amended.

“Not only that, but a new stage in our careers is beginning for all of us. Our own production will get off the ground thanks to Kurt and if workshops go well we can really make names for ourselves. Maybe one day we can even all get to Broadway. I know how much that means, to all of us, to have this opportunity. And it means a lot to me that we’ll be doing this together. To Kurt!”

The table halfheartedly raised their glasses. Rachel hesitated. “It feels weird to toast to this.”

“Do you not want it?” Kurt snapped. 

“You called me slutty for considering a topless scene,” Rachel hissed. “Where do you think your clothes are going to _be_?”

Kurt primly folded his arms in front of him.

“Think about your future Tonys! You don’t want to question whether you’ve truly earned all you accolades.” 

“There’s no such thing as a Tony award winning blowjob,” Kurt shot back. He looked like he surprised himself with his own crassness once the words were out. 

“You would _not_ say that if you had one.” Artie held out a driving glove clad hand for Mike to high five. Kurt flushed redder than the tacky dinner seats. 

“You haven’t?” Blaine angled toward him in what he hoped could only be described as professional interest. “I figured you were using some definition that didn’t count oral sex, which is silly because it’s _right there in the name_ but far be it from me to tell someone that they can’t determine their own sexual identity for themselves. You really haven’t done anything? What about handjobs, or frottage, or intercural, or –” 

“Stop listing sex acts, Blaine, the answer’s always going to be no,” Kurt hissed. “Do you not realize you’re in public? People can hear you.”

Blaine grinned and shrugged. “We’re in a bar – everyone here’s old enough to know what I’m talking about if they haven’t already experienced it for themselves. The whole topic is fascinating if you think about it – we put so much emphasis on a concept with no concrete definition.” 

Somewhere along the line Kurt resolutely stopped looking at him. Blaine didn’t know when that started but when he finally noticed he quickly followed with, “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. And I can talk about something other than sex! I want to know _everything_ about your show.”

Kurt smiled gratefully for the change in topic. “We went so far as to divvy up roles at Tina and Mike’s Christmas party last year when we all drank enough we weren’t afraid of putting words to dreams. Artie’s going to be our director. Mike and Brittany are dance captains. Brittany and Artie will do media relations. Tina and I will split up costuming and set design. Mercedes, Santana, and Rachel will be our main divas, at least while I’m busy.” Kurt’s eyes shone. He bit his lip to keep his smile from splitting too wide. 

“That’s great,” Blaine enthused. “It sounds like you’ve had this planned out for a while.” Kurt was cute when he preened. Once Blaine found something that worked to make someone like him he stuck with it. Talking about the show worked.

“Since high school, really,” Kurt nodded. “It started out as something we joked about as friends. We wrote some songs together, performed them, and forgot about them for a while. One by one we all came to the city over the years and each time someone arrived we talked about doing a show together. Our show, specifically. I started working on the script that strung the songs we wrote together whenever I was frustrated about the parts available to me, which was a lot of time. The script’s been in a stage of near completion for ages. We’ve just been waiting for a way to make it all happen.”

“How, exactly, were you going to seduce the producer? I bet you can’t say a single euphemism for penis without turning red.” Brittany asked.

Kurt’s cheeks reddened without trying to say any of them. The obvious excitement from talking about the show fled from him.

“Blaine seemed to be buying it.” Santana teased.

Mercedes, not unkindly, countered, “You already paid, there wasn’t anything left to buy. Kurt, you’re in way over your head here and you can’t just ignore it in favor of celebrating something you shouldn’t have done.” She turned back to Santana. “And Santana, honestly, just pay the boy and let him leave.”

“He’ll earn it yet.” She winked salaciously at Kurt.

Blaine’s open mouth clamped shut. He could feel the frustration radiating off Kurt. Blaine didn’t know what to do with it since the frustration wasn’t directed at him. He still helped cause it.

“Could you focus on the point of this for a moment?” Kurt snipped. “We have the opportunity to get ourselves on stage and our story out there like we always wanted. That’s what we’re celebrating, and it’s so much bigger than what’s going on in anyone’s private life.”

“Nope, we’ve still been waiting longer for you to get laid,” Santana cracked.

“These are our dreams! Sex can’t be more interesting than that.” Kurt looks around the table. 

“Only one way to know,” Brittany hummed dreamily, tracing her fingers around the rim of her drink.

“Fine.” Kurt tossed his napkin on the table. He pushed away from it. “Fine.” He looked right into Santana’s eyes as he said, “Blaine, let’s go.”


	4. Don’t Leave Me This Way

Blaine drained the last of his martini and obediently followed Kurt outside. 

“You don’t have to do this for me. It wasn’t that much money. I’m not hard up for clients,” Blaine said as they gathered up their coats. 

_Of course he wasn’t_. Kurt wound his scarf carefully around his neck. 

“I mean, I’m not _cheap_ but I can afford to have an off-night.”

“I wanted to leave. I thought you might like to, too.”

“Of course,” Blaine responded warmly. Earnestness looked good on him. Kurt chose to believe him rather than feel guilty for possibly ruining his evening. Listening to Kurt’s friends debate their sexual choices couldn’t be Blaine’s idea of a good time.

Their breath puffed in the cold night air and the bar door thudded dully behind them. Kurt started in the direction of home. A bubble bath and cheesecake would be perfect. If his friends couldn’t celebrate with him he could do just fine on his own. There was nothing wrong with a quiet night at home (with a brief intermission to sneak out and let his friends think they beat him back to the apartment). He’d do extra Pilates in the morning to make up for the cheesecake.

Blaine followed. “Where are we going?” 

“I . . . We?” Cheesecake he could share but the bubble bath was non-negotiable. He could send Blaine his separate way but he was the one who made Blaine follow him out. He wouldn’t dismiss company if it was freely given like the ‘we’ in Blaine’s question implied. He still got lonely. Cake and a bubble bath didn’t fix that. “I don’t have anything planned.” 

“Can I walk you home?” 

“It’s miles from here," Kurt laughed. “I have to take the subway. After I find something else to do for a couple hours, that is, before they all head back to The Single Ladies’. I don’t need speed jokes on top of everything else.” Assuming his friends even believed him. Storming off didn’t garner too much concern in their dramatic little group. 

Blaine looked at him quizzically. “Is that a strip club?”

“Oh. Um. No.” He kept discovering new ways to be mortified. “My apartment. With Rachel and Mercedes. That’s what everyone calls it. Santana and Tina both lived there at different points in time before moving in with their significant others, so they deemed my apartment where people live during a relationship holding period.”

“Do you mind the name?” he didn’t sound judgmental, just curious.

Kurt shrugged. “Maybe if it wasn’t in reference to a Beyonce song where I taught them the dance we’d have another chat about how feminine doesn’t equal female. They’ve gotten better about figuring the out distinction. And I know who I am even if sometimes they forget.” 

“In that case, be a gentleman and walk me home? It’s not far.” Blaine gave his best charming smile. 

“Why, um. . . ” Kurt’s stomach flipped. He preened under any positive attention from a cute boy, spending time with him under duress or not. He thought he was over this. He didn’t usually follow strangers wherever they wanted to take him. “Of course. That’ll work.”

Kurt gestured for Blaine to lead on. Unanswered questions about an anomaly like Blaine – who’d come into his life so strangely and suddenly when everything was on its head – would linger long after he’d gone. It was an inevitability. He might as well shorten the list a little and get a sense of who Blaine was before he disappeared. 

Blaine looped his arm through Kurt’s. “Along the way we should talk about creating a code for when you actually want to sleep with me and when you’re acting.”

Kurt couldn’t help but laugh. He propositioned Blaine twice in the same night, and neither time was ingenuous. At least Blaine didn’t seem affected by any residual embarrassment from their first meeting. 

Kurt didn’t spend a lot of time creating expectations for how a prostitute would be and act, but Blaine didn’t fit the few he had. He looked nothing like Julia Roberts, for one. He dressed like he had money to spare. And he was so cheerful, tone constantly upbeat. Wasn’t he supposed to hate his life?

“It doesn’t bother you that all your friends think you’re about to sleep with me?” Blaine asked.

“Who cares what they think. First point of order: no one bought that scene. Secondly, you heard them; they prefer you over my producer. They prefer talking about you over the fact that I _have_ a producer.”

He frequently pictured announcing his show would be produced. He spent years trying to get anyone who wasn’t a friend or relative to look at it. They’d never come close before. The script lay in the hands of an actual producer because _Kurt put it there_. Blaine was willing to focus on celebrating the news and they barely knew each other. Leave it to his friends to take their anxieties about sex and virginity out on him and call it in his best interest. In the fight for anyone’s attention, sex won over talent every time.

“Even if they think I didn’t earn it, they should be happy for me,” Kurt seethed as he briskly kept pace with Blaine. “I was happy for them when they got their _high school diplomas_.”

“You should be. I don’t have one.”

Kurt clamped his free hand over his stupid mouth. Blaine held tight to his other and continued leading them down the street as if he didn’t notice. Kurt couldn’t fathom dropping out of high school. Even in the long miserable stretches quitting school altogether wasn’t an option he’d entertained. “I’m sorry, I didn’t –” 

“Turns out it doesn’t lead to getting paid more by the hour.” Blaine’s eyes crinkled adorably.

Kurt got that it was a joke. He was supposed to laugh. He couldn’t quite make himself.

Everything felt too complicated for this hour. 

With their roles reversed Kurt knew he wouldn’t want Tina, or Rachel, or Mercedes, or Brittany, or Santana – especially Santana, actually, given her love of vengeance and destruction – anywhere near Will Schuester. There was no need for them to give up on their careers like that. He’d want them to know that. His anger at them receded some and left him feeling worn. He reconciled that what he wanted for them was different from what he was willing to do himself. Rules were always different for Kurt. 

Approaching Dalton was like stepping through time. When they reached the entry steps, doors opened for them. Inside everything was 1) expensive and 2) we cared for. There were honest-to-goodness chandeliers. To the side of the foyer stood a grand piano. Marble steps regally spiraled up floor after floor in a dome that, with its wrought iron everywhere, reminded Kurt of a birdcage. 

Kurt didn’t expect anything so beautiful. It seemed right for Blaine to live somewhere like this, surrounded in beauty. 

“Welcome to my home,” Blaine said with self-deprecating, sweeping gesture and then grabbed Kurt’s hand again. “Come on. I can give you a tour.”

Kurt was torn between looking at the walls and looking at Blaine.

“It’s very safe,” Blaine explained as he led Kurt up the stairs. “The council looks after us. Dalton’s been around for ages, but it’s a well-kept secret.”

“Your brothel is run by a council.” _Pompous_ wasn’t a word he expected to associate with a brothel. What kind of brothel ran itself democratically?

Blaine made a face. “‘Brothel’ sounds tawdry.”

“You let Santana call you a whore all night.”

Blaine ignored his observation. “The council represents all the Warblers. They manage Dalton from budgeting to booking clients. Santana found me through them.”

_I asked for non-threatening but smokin’. You’re welcome._ Kurt shook that thought away. So Dalton knew how to deliver. 

The furniture in Blaine’s studio was all heavy, ornate vintage pieces. The New Yorker in him protested that they would make moving impossible. No one would want to lift that down flights and flights of stairs. The effect was gorgeous. Blaine’s canary chirped at them from his hanging cage in the corner. From the hallway Kurt whistled a short tune at the bird while Blaine went inside to hang up his coat. 

Blaine turned back at Kurt’s hesitation at the threshold. “You can go in. it’s not forbidden.” 

Kurt first went to the canary whistling back at him. “Do you ever let him out?”

“Pavarotti’s cage is safe and has everything he needs,” Blaine recited as if by memory. “He’s supposed to like it best right where he is.”

“Is that true?”Kurt ran his fingers over the edges of Blaine’s vanity. Pictures of Old Hollywood actors were pinned around the edges – Blaine’s style icons judging by his clothes. Blaine’s delicate cologne permeated the studio. Kurt noted that the vanity held quality moisturizing and anti-aging creams, as well as a face mask. Next to the vanity the bookshelf overflowed with an eclectic selection of well-worn paperbacks. So this was who Blaine was besides a handsome stranger. 

“I’ve had a few years to settle in,” Blaine explained with a sweeping gesture to his knick knacks. The gesture led to almost sloshing the coffee in his hand over the side of the cup. Blaine frowned at the offending coffee. He set both cups down on the vanity.

Kurt eased himself onto the plush bed and ran his fingers over the sleek cover. Blaine must be older than he seemed. Not as old as Kurt thought he must be to be Will Schuester, but old enough to have a career as a prostitute. Or a career as anything. Kurt smoothed the comforter. He belatedly realized he picked the most inappropriate spot to sit without even thinking. He invited himself onto a stranger’s bed and bolting up at that realization might be even more awkward than staying put.

Blaine stilled Kurt’s restless hand with his own. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. You’re allowed to be.” 

A million scenarios sprang to his overactive mind that seized onto the slightest hint of affection and build whole fantasies upon it. He really crossed a line by sitting on Blaine’s bed. The intimate settling made it easier for him to imagine sexual undertones to Blaine’s reassurance. Like Blaine was giving him permission to be nervous before they started. Before Blaine reached for him. Before Blaine slid onto the bed and Kurt slid back to make room. Before they tangled together on the world’s softest comforter that Kurt should inquire about the make of. Before Blaine kissed away his insecurities. Before Kurt touched every inch of skin on Blaine to see if it was warmer than his hand. 

He pushed the thoughts out just as quickly as they’d come. Like dropping out of high school, it didn’t seem like something he could even consider. His plans did not include sleeping with prostitutes, no matter how pretty. His original plans didn’t include sleeping with a producer either and that was enough of a deviation. 

“You’ve been coming in and out of these trances all night.” Blaine observed. 

“Eventful night,” Kurt said lightly. Like he hadn’t just been thinking about having sex with Blaine. Again. He focused instead on the touch warming his hand and defrosting the rest of him. Sometimes, he was startled to find, he missed being touched. He noticed his longing for it only when someone finally made that contact. He resolved to hug Tina and his roommates more if he could feel all this from a stranger.

Blaine withdrew his hand and Kurt’s urge to snatch it back startled himself. Blaine joined him on the bed. Kurt swallowed. 

“I understand not liking where you’re at and doing what you can to change it. It’s why I’m here. I couldn’t stand the thought of being where I was. So I ran. I came to Dalton. The cost of living here’s steep but they let me fit in. The guys living here are my friends. Which isn’t to say it was a perfect solution. Or that I’ve never wanted something more.” Blaine looked up from his reverie. “I’m not going to tell you what to do either way.” 

He tilted his head. He waited. The calmness in Blaine’s voice pulled the confessions out of Kurt. 

“How am I going to do this?” Kurt asked quietly. As tired as he was of this topic Blaine was the only one he trusted to answer him helpfully. “As my friends so plainly pointed out, I don’t know what I’m doing. I couldn’t even come up with how to be sexy. I need this to work.”

“Inexperienced and barely legal seems to be his thing. Maybe it’ll be _endearing_. For what it’s worth, that was the most adorable seduction I have ever been put through.”

Blaine wrinkled his nose as he teased in a way he must’ve known would evoke affection in whomever it was aimed at. Kurt rolled his eyes in response.

“You’ve planned this for a while? Today’s meeting wasn’t spur of the moment. You knew you were going to try and seduce him.”

Kurt nodded. Rachel had Will’s contact information through a NYADA alumnus but she was unwilling to get in touch with a Broadway producer who was surrounded by rumors of sexual liaisons with his stars. She offered it to Kurt since he was a boy. Kurt’s rumors told him he still had a shot. The script he wrote was his to sell. The impeding closing date of his off-off Broadway show made him just desperate enough to deem selling the script through whatever means necessary worth it. He called when he reached the tipping point. 

“How do you picture it going?” Blaine asked. 

Kurt crossed and uncrossed his legs as he tried to explain what he didn’t expect anyone else to understand. “You know how in _Fame_ when the only work Coco can find is in porn and she starts crying as she undresses on camera until she’s a naked sobbing mess and you can never stop being haunted by the scene? That’s the worst that can happen.”

Blaine winced. He’d never been a fan of that movie. He preferred the kind where getting your dreams didn’t come with giant costs. “And the best case scenario?”

“You know that scene in _Fame?_ ”

“Kurt, that’s horrible!”

Kurt waved him off. “You’re supposed to be horrified. At least I assume so. But the _actress_ who plays Coco agreed to take the part. The character can’t have this horrible experience without the involvement of the actor. Either it didn’t bother her or the payoff was worth it.” He hoped the latter scenario panned out for himself. The first didn’t seem possible. 

“And you’ll be the character that something horrible happens to.”

It stung to have it pointed out so plainly. He wasn’t a victim. Nothing was _happening to_ him. He was an active player in this plan. He initiated contact with the producer. He knew the producer would have certain expectations. Sex wasn’t a big deal to most of the people he knew. 

Blaine reached for Kurt’s hand again. “Thinking of yourself as a character that’s separate from your ‘true’ self acting out a scene isn’t bad if that’s what helps. If I think of sex as a performance, I matter less in it.”

Kurt’s jaw dropped. “Are you trying to horrify me?” What kind of advice advocated for mattering less? 

Blaine scrambled to recapture Kurt’s hand. “Of course not! It helps, really, Kurt. There’s a certain amount of distance a transaction provides. Everyone has their roles and no one goes off script. I know exactly how much is expected of me. I’m allowed to have limits and having limits doesn’t make me selfish or unworthy of what we do agree to. And if they don’t like the character I can tell myself that it’s not a reflection on me. With love you’re supposed to give everything, do whatever it takes to make that person keep loving you. That’s what being taken advantage of feels like.” 

_That doesn’t sound right._ Kurt didn’t actually know anything about love, of course. Idealism about such things didn’t serve him in finding and maintaining relationships.

“You can pretend to know what you’re doing when you don’t, but the reverse is true as well. It’s not that hard to fake being a virgin when someone wants the _Miss Saigon_ experience.”

Just when Kurt thought he couldn’t be more horrified. . . “Did you just make a make a musical reference to describe –”

“Virgin and whore in the same convenient wrapping? It’s apt. if I’m lucky it’s without the raceplay. What I’m saying is if you want opening night to work out, you might have to hold a couple rehearsals.” 

“Blaine. I can’t sleep with you.” He didn’t come to Dalton to be seduced. 

Blaine looked perplexed at being turned down. “Because of Will Schuester?”

“I don’t even know you!”

“And that matters to you.” 

Kurt closed his eyes. In one night he pictured sleeping with Blaine even more times than he disingenuously propositioned him. Both were getting out of hand: he knew how quickly he could go from zero to inappropriately, overwhelmingly infatuated. His feelings bruised easily. Touch was hard. He didn’t trust others with his body without years, usually, of proof that he could. All those reasons compounded in wariness toward sex. In their initial meeting he was still coming down from the heightened emotions of performing and then Blaine had been charming and flirty, letting Kurt get caught up in the circumstances. He yet again let himself imagine tangling up with Blaine on the bed, this time stripping away the fantasy to something that could actually happen, or begin, in a few moments time. No sweeping romantic gestures. No intimacy. No relationship at all, really. Just learning hands-on about sex with someone contractually obligated to be considerate. 

He wasn’t going to lose his inhibitions by paying them to go away. He wanted more fanfare than just getting it over with and a deeper connection than a shared love of theatrics. Nicely decorated though it was, it was still a room in a brothel with someone he was indirectly paying to be there. Blaine could probably fake being an awesome boyfriend but Kurt wanted something real.

“You don’t go this long with no sexual experience without some intentionality. I grew up in Ohio and I had standards and those two facts were not compatible.” He knew prostitutes and producers weren’t his only options, and it wasn’t just because Mercedes told him so. Sex wasn’t hard to come by, it was all the conditions he placed upon the where and how and with whom that made it impossible. 

“I thought New York would be easier – and it was because for once I wasn’t the only openly gay person in a 50 mile range – but it turns out I’m still picky. Santana kept threatening to find a professional until last spring when I finally found a boyfriend I thought was worthwhile. Even after all that I wasn’t ready soon enough and he didn’t want to wait.”

Blaine frowned. “He doesn’t sound worthwhile at all.”

Kurt shrugged. He might be slow to get there, but eventually Kurt’s intolerance for bullshit pulled the breaks every time he tried dating. There were still tears, but mostly out of frustration with himself for letting some stupid guy make him feel awful. For believing he couldn’t do any better until something snapped and he saw that he really, really could. Alone was better than _that_. He didn’t want sex so bad that he’d compromise on expecting basic human decency like caring about someone else’s feelings.

And here he was, alone and compromising anyway. Or he would be soon enough.

“It might make things easier with Will but I can’t. You’re not what I want either. ‘Practicing’ with you makes two things I don’t want instead of one. You’re nice and all but . . . It’s fine. No one has a magical first time with someone they actually like. Or at least no one I know.”

“Your friends Tina and Mike? I’m just guessing since they’ve been together since high school.”

Kurt frowned. “Well screw them for having everything I want.”

“Everything? Neither of them are famous,” Blaine teased. 

He hadn’t thought of that.

“I guess that’s not as important as you’re making it out to be.”

“I want to matter.” More than anything else, he wanted to believe he mattered. Small minded small towns made him unwanted and here in New York he was insignificant. 

“And fame is the only way you’ll ever matter?”

Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll stop twisting your words. Like I said, you need someone on your side.” Blaine sprang up. “How about this: we’ll help each other. I’ll give you advice and you can help me with an old dream.”

“Did you want to be an actor?” Kurt asked. He tipped his head in curious appraisal. He could see it, maybe. Most actors had other jobs to support themselves, after all. Blaine definitely had presence. And a very captive audience.

“Performer. I wanted to do it all. I’ve always been something of a show off.”

“Triple threat?”

“Of course.” 

Kurt never thought about having a hooker for a role model. He wasn’t 100% convinced by Blaine’s philosophies on how to deal with treating sex like a commodity but Blaine had to know what he was talking about. Blaine seemed at peace with his life. Kurt could learn that. Joke or not, Santana sent him just what he needed. 

“Don’t you want the script reading first?”

“My _private_ script reading?” Blaine’s eyes twinkled. “I can’t imagine you doing all this if you didn’t think it was good.”

He hadn’t heard Blaine sing yet. Or seen him dance or act. They’d have to believe each other.

“This really isn’t about sex?” Kurt asked, his final reservation.

Blaine knocked against Kurt’s shoulders. “Drink the coffee, dummy.”


	5. One Day I'll Fly Away

It wasn’t late, by Blaine’s standards, when he said goodnight to Kurt at Dalton’s heavy entrance doors. Right before Kurt left, Blaine plucked the iPhone out of Kurt’s hands and called his own phone, not caring if it was forward or not. Now he had a way to reach Kurt and turn their talk of collaborating into action. He hadn’t planned to demand a place for himself in Kurt’s show – his own audacity startled him – but he was glad for it. Opportunities like this didn’t come around. Maybe something good could come of one of his spontaneous decisions. 

He resisted leaning in for a kiss when Kurt loitered in the doorway for a moment before bouncing down the steps and waving from the street.

When he turned back, Sebastian smirked at him. Blaine hadn’t realized anyone was behind him, let alone so close. 

Sebastian toyed with the trim on Blaine’s vintage-esque cardigan. “Do I have to treat you to a malt shake and pin you before I take you behind the bleachers?” 

Blaine sidestepped him on the way to the stairs. “You know how much I’m worth.” It was a high cost but not prohibitive for Sebastian. He’d fronted the money before. Plenty, before he became a Warbler himself. Blaine really wished, if one of his clients had to make a career change, he would have picked a different whorehouse. He never figured out how to coexist with someone he used to work for.

Blaine continued on to his room without trying to negotiate more. Let Sebastian take up the bookkeeping with Thad if he was so interested. Sebastian could spend his money however he liked but Blaine wasn’t going to encourage him. Sometimes attention from Sebastian felt so good, but he didn't feel that lonely at the moment and manners weren’t enough to fuel that backslide on its own.

“Someone’s feeling unfriendly today.”

Blaine’s steps halted. He hated feeling ungracious. Every time he tried not to engage with Sebastian he felt mean. Pleasantries weren’t too much to ask for; it was all the asking that followed pleasantries that led to trouble. He couldn’t win.

Blaine turned back. He liked being liked. Being eager to please made him excellent at his job. His clients adored him. They wanted his company enough to pay hundreds – or for the repeat visitors, thousands – of dollars for the pleasure of it and no regular client had yet to come close to the amount of money Sebastian dropped on Blaine.

Sebastian smirked as he caught up with Blaine on the stairs. “Are you always this sweet with clients? Giving tours, showing off Dalton . . .”

“I’m whatever they want me to be.” Blaine laughed hollowly at the obviousness of his response. Sebastian knew that. 

“What’s someone so squeaky clean doing with us creatures of the underworld? And I do mean squeaky; that voice could shatter glass. We should check the chandeliers. If you’re recruiting you should keep in mind that clients come to Dalton for men, not pre-op little girls.”

_If Dalton gave a finder’s fee, what amount would make unintentionally recruiting Sebastian worth it?_ Blaine toyed with some value estimates to soothe the nerves Sebastian was grating. Thad always charged clients who weren’t nice more for him.

“So I’m right that she’s your personal charity case? Some poor lost kid who needs a place to stay and a way to earn it? Mmm. God, you used to be so hot when that was you. What _wouldn’t_ you do?”

Sebastian was the only client who really tried to woo him. Blaine knew he shouldn’t be flattered by the effort: the goal was always something for free. Telling Blaine he looked nice was a negotiation tactic and the only thing Sebastian’s lines said about Blaine was how gullible he was.

“He needs something. I’m not sure what yet.” He could help Kurt. Mess though Blaine was, he liked the idea of helping. In a non-predatory way. They could be _friends._

Sebastian leaned in close. “My needs are a lot easier to figure out. They require you, in my room, in 30 minutes.”

“That gives you 30 minutes to work out the budget with Thad.”

“I thought you were in a giving mood today. Old times’ sake and all. I bet it’s been on your mind.”

He hated haggling. Like he was asking too much, like his opinion of himself was too high. Thad handled the finances for a reason. Once upon a time, Blaine was foolish enough to believe his wealthy regular client who so openly desired him would whisk his away from Dalton instead of join him there, and of course Blaine would give Sebastian whatever he wanted despite what they agreed to.

_Not anymore,_ Blaine told himself firmly. “I need to know what’s expected of me.”

“Fine. I’ll do your silly paperwork.” Like he was humoring Blaine. But it was better than nothing. “30 minutes.”

Blaine slipped into his room where his canary chirped in greeting. He assigned Kurt’s name to the missed call in his cell phone. He’d call in a day or two. He’d give Kurt the opportunity to say something first. Right now he needed coffee, a shower, and to get dressed in something that would appeal to Sebastian. Later, when he had time, he’d think on the possibilities Kurt’s show could offer.

“One day, Pavarotti. We’ll fly right out of here and onto a real stage,” Blaine promised and laughed to himself when the bird chirped back. Maybe his canary could hold him to it. 

*** 

Kurt didn't know what to make of the number hastily added to his phone, with “Warbler” in place of a last name from Blaine politely but insistently inviting himself into Kurt's life. He debated what to do with it on the subway ride home. Doubts crept into his mind about inviting a very charming stranger into his show. He could just delete the number and dismiss their interaction as part of the weird of the night. Blaine would be the worst kind of crush to allow himself: seemingly attainable but inappropriate and certain to end in heartbreak or questionable compromises. Kurt couldn't afford distractions once rehearsals started.

One the way out of Dalton, Kurt had stopped in front of the window at the top of the stairs to take in the view. At the slight hint of resistance Blaine halted his forward progression. New York was surreal at night – after arriving Kurt assumed he’s get used to it but had long since given up that notion. He could see the East River and knew his home was somewhere in the distance beyond all those lights.

“You’re not from here,” Blaine observed as he watched Kurt watch the city.

“Is anyone? Well, I mean, I know logically people are. From here. But I don’t know anyone who didn’t pick up and move here because it’s where they longed to be. Unless . . .?”

“No, still true. It’s home but I’ll never be able to say it’s where I’m from. When I left it was the only place I could see myself being.”

Kurt liked that explanation: home but not where he’s from. He picked this place for himself but it didn’t explain all of who he was.

He wondered where Blaine was from. And why he chose to be here. No one moved to New York without some kind of dream.

They had a deal, and Kurt would stick to it. Once upon a time Blaine wanted to be a performer too. Blaine might understand Kurt’s choices better than anyone else, but more importantly, Kurt couldn't refuse to afford someone the opportunity to attain a dream when it was within his power to do so. 

Rachel barged into Kurt’s room shortly after he made it home, asked for permission to hug him before doing so, and told him they all interfered because they loved him. 

Kurt knew that anyway, but it was nice to hear. Their relationship only functioned with a lot of forgiveness: they were just similar enough to see all their worst traits in the other and leaned toward meddling as a problem solving technique. Apologies were often assumed rather than offered outright, but then there were the in-between moments like this where they’d try to make it up to each other and earn forgiveness for all their other slights too. 

“Are we easier to stomach on a smaller scale?” Rachel asked as she pulled out of the hug. “We can just talk, you and me, and I swear I’ll do my best to listen without judging or lecturing or giving any kind of unsolicited advice.”

“Big promise on your part.” It came out mostly civil. 

Rachel clambered onto his bed, crossing her legs, dropping a pillow into her lap and arranging the comforter to cover her feet. She smoothed her hands over the pillow. “Remember how we did this when you first moved to New York?”

Kurt smiled at the memory that coaxed him into sliding next to her. “I was going to get a hotel but I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you.” The city overwhelmed him with its promise and its dangers that scared him for both their sake. Rachel had been living and functioning in this place for _weeks_ and he didn’t know how. He crawled under her covers and they turned out the lights and he didn’t sleep. Her roommate yelled at them for killing the mood with their high pitched _this is real_ and _oh my god you made it_ exclamations. Kurt joked she was upset that sex couldn’t compete with the rush they were feeling.

“What scared you the most?”

“I didn’t know.” Catastrophe wasn’t hard to imagine. He sold his car, his only possession of value, knowing how quickly rent would eat that money like it never existed. What if he built life here up too much in his mind where even the grandest place on earth couldn’t measure up? Wasting his time, his dad’s support, putting unnecessary distance between them. His family lived too far to rush to his aid at a moment’s notice. Rachel was the only person, outside of himself, that he could count on. The moment he stepped off the plane he knew his life was altered. 

“And yet here we are. When we first met, I bet this isn’t how you thought we’d end up!”

Kurt’s stomach turned. “Please don’t build this up into how I’m disappointing you now.”

Rachel just leaned into him. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if we went through with getting married.” 

She didn’t need to specify who “we” was. Kurt tipped his head at the seemingly unrelated years old drama between her and his brother. “Rachel, that was high school. The moment’s gone.” 

“It’s not like by graduating it stopped having any bearing on our lives. I don’t think you stop forgetting about what could have been. We made a lot of decisions then about who we wanted to be.”

His one sustaining thought was getting out, not what kind of person he molded himself into in the process. A stubborn, single-minded one, no doubt, who would tell anyone to their face that his dreams were bigger than them. Half of his high school memories were just fantasies he concocted while in that hellish concrete building. Being different would keep him from being _stuck._ Only he still felt stuck because he’d gotten out but he hadn’t gotten what he really wanted. 

“I was really sure that’s what I wanted – we would get married and I would be good at that. Because what I really wanted seemed so far away and I needed to want something, something I could make happen. I knew if I didn’t succeed I’d be devastated. So I tried to change my goals. I wasn’t myself without them, you knew that. Same way you knew that, lead role on the line or not, I’d regret getting naked on film for it.”

Exhaustion hit hard. His off-off Broadway show, closed now or not, took a lot out of him, and then the emotional mess that followed used up his reserve “coping with other people's feelings” for the week. Maybe coping with his own as well. “Rachel, it’s too late for this.”

“Never! We all understand ambition, Kurt. Do you think there’s a single one of us who wouldn’t claw our way to the top? Who doesn’t take stupid chances? Who doesn’t have a problem with single-minded focus? Sometimes I want so much I get tripped up in how to go about it.” 

He knew how intensely Rachel wanted things. That one commonality held their friendship through fights over boys, overstepped boundaries, and personal living space. 

Kurt tried to weigh her words. He spoke carefully. “This isn’t me being scared of ambition.”

“Just that it’s not enough.” Rachel captured his hand and squeezed. “Remember that time Brittany thought a sex tape could get Santana what she wanted? Or that time you almost rigged an election before I did it for you? Or that time I sent a girl to a crack house rather than accept additional competition?”

Kurt snorted. He remembered now that she mentioned it. Questionable choices seemed to be their forte. 

“And how many times did we quit something we loved just so somebody would notice? We all worried wanting wasn’t enough because often it wasn’t. We tried for shortcuts. But we didn’t need them.”

He liked to think he was the least prone to terrible decision making when trying to succeed. That he didn’t have the same drive to be the best and get into the spotlight at all costs. His friends were the ones who lacked perspective and a solid grasp of consequences. He raised the bar in regrettable decisions tonight. 

“My show’s over. It closed. I’m not dramatically storming off.” His show left him. He would have stayed if it was an option. Or pursued other options if he had any.

“Only metaphorically,” she corrected. “I know how tempting it sounds. I don’t fault you for being tempted. I don’t think it’s right for you. As much as I resented you, I’m glad you were there for me when I needed you to know me best.” 

Kurt took a chance on her understanding and not pushing harder or turning his words against him. “You know that feeling you got when you first came here?”

Rachel laughed. “Nauseous? Terrified but pretending to be brave.”

“So close. Your dreams are so close you can see them.” He closed his eyes. “And you think how easily we could have missed out on this. We would’ve never known what we were missing. Sometimes what comes next seems terrifying, but you have a chance to make things happen for yourself and you can’t ignore it.”

“Yeah,” she murmured as she tipped her head against his shoulder. “I know that feeling.” He could feel her biting back more to say, but if there was anyone who could be swayed by _wanting_ it was Rachel.

He sent a quick text to his phone’s newest contact - _I'll let you know when we start_ \- before setting his phone aside. He smiled, hours later while still in bed but unable to sleep, when it buzzed.

***

“Oh, no, we’re not staying,” Santana said as Blaine seated himself at her table in their agreed-upon meeting place in midtown. “Get something to go if you believe in eating.”

He trailed behind her to the counter. He needed more sleep to understand her this early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes. 

“We’re bringing Brits breakfast. Even dancers have to eat,” Santana explained. “No matter how they pretend they don’t. Shouldn’t leave her alone too long with the Black Swans anyway.”

Blaine placed his coffee order – and then his bagel order when he realized the only diet Santana had seen from him so far was a liquid one – and slipped a couple extra bills into the tip jar. 

“I have never heard a New Yorker say ‘please’ that much. If you keep that up people are going to think you’re a tourist.”

“Nothing wrong with asking nicely.” He took a swig of coffee and resumed trailing after her, this time out into the cold.

“Don’t think I’m paying for Kurt’s stunt last night,” Santana said. “Boy can act on stage but he’s terrible at making himself be something he’s not.”

Blaine smiled. “That’s probably a good quality.”

“Doubt it pays as well as morphing yourself into whatever people want you to be.” 

Blaine’s smile waned.

Santana gave him and appraising look. “What’s left to tweak? So nice, so _polite,_ probably friends with assorted woodland creatures who come at the sound of your voice. Sexless Ken doll should be just his type. Shouldn’t have told him you’re a whore and scared him off.”

“The only false pretenses I give my clients are the ones they create for themselves. Lying about my profession isn’t ethical.” Yet another reason to never let himself be a gift to someone else.

“Poster boy for Sesame Street right here,” she sneered.

Blaine stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Well now you really look like a tourist.” Santana steered him to toward the buildings and away from foot traffic. “What?”

The council was supposed to handle things like this. He didn’t do confrontation and negotiations. He just wanted to be what people wanted him to be. He couldn’t pretend on something like this, though. “You’re gay, right? What do you get out of this? I thought, when you contacted me, that I was just for fun, or that I was some kind of rite of passage deal. He didn’t expect me and then he didn’t want me. That means I wasn’t a gift. You’re spending a lot of money on someone else and all I’ve seen you do with him is fight.”

“Spit it out, hobbit.”

The words came out in a rush. “I won’t be a _weapon._ I don’t trick people into sleeping with me.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I wish I could have gotten to Brittany instead of a shitty rapist. Not _first_ ; instead of. Although, you know, it sucks that was her first impression of sex. Kurt’s signing himself up to be taken advantage of. I’m not okay with that, and he won’t be okay with that as soon as he comes to his senses. Either he realizes sleeping with the cute, _harmless_ boy I picked out for him is infinitely more appealing than what that douche bag’s offering, or he realizes by hanging out with you that he ain’t low enough to become a whore himself. Be sexy or be pathetic, I don’t care which, but for the love of god pick _one._ ”

She set off again.

Blaine had a hard time sussing out what was real and what was show with her. One moment she seemed vulnerable underneath the posturing, and the next was viciously erasing that image. He chose to believe the former even as he pulled away. 

“I charge extra to clients who are mean,” Blaine noted with a sassy lift of his chin, his voice mild as he caught up. He could act like her words upset him less than they did for her sake, because he could tell she was hurting and somehow that mattered more. He would mull later, on his own time, to figure out why it bothered him and what, if anything, he would do about it.

Brittany lit up when they approached. Santana shoved the bagel bag at Blaine and molded herself to Brittany’s lips as if they’d been apart days instead of hours. They joined Brittany in standing in line waiting to be chosen. Blaine tried to maintain a respectful distance to appease grumblings from the women in line and _didn’t he know he was in the wrong place_? Santana and Brittany linked their pinkies linked together. Blaine liked the simplicity of it, the sureness in the way they reached for each other and met in the middle for a simple but meaningful touch. They made it so easy to tell they were in love. He used to want what they had so badly.

“You ever stand in an audition line?” Santana asked.

Blaine shook his head. “Not like this.” Small little things in Ohio back when he lived there and nothing more. His time in New York focused more on survival. Once he joined Dalton he forgot about the outside world. Waiting in line for an audition seemed almost romantic despite how miserable the reality no doubt could be. All that hope that this moment could change your life.

“Kurt told me he invited you to be in the show. You know that seduction through musical theater’s a shitty return on your time investment.”

Blaine nodded. He hadn’t thought about performing in years, but the sudden want gnawed at him. He could be so good at performing.

“That mean our deal is still on?”

Blaine shrugged. “I’m just a boy who can’t say no.”


	6. Like a Virgin

Blaine peered over Kurt’s shoulder into his vanity mirror. “The most important thing here is a good smolder. Don’t say anything; tempt me with your eyes. Words you can get all wrong, but a good seductive look never fails.”

Kurt tried to mimic the quirk of Blaine’s eyebrow and the purse of his lips. He may have a degree in acting but no one had ever expected him to sell sensuality. He could cry on command or deliver a damn good soliloquy but Romantic Lead wasn’t in his wheelhouse. That wasn’t an expected role from him. Blaine made it look effortless. 

“Tone it down a bit, Kurt; you don’t want to look like a preteen Disney starlet’s MySpace page.”

Kurt tried again. He watched himself in the mirror all the time. He rehearsed not only lines from a script but everyday conversations – most of which he never had but at least he was prepared for. He did not have any lines prepared for this type of situation.

Blaine’s voice drew his attention back. “I want you to think about sex.”

“What about sex?” 

There was the higher pitch again. Blaine laughed but at least he didn’t make Kurt feel like he was the joke. 

“Good sex,” Blaine teased. Along with seductive looks, Blaine had his seductive voice that he used without discretion. Kurt fell for it every time. Blaine wanted to show him a new café or asked to borrow a scarf/Kurt’s copy of Vogue/his new brightening peel with that voice and Kurt melted. Kurt would agree immediately. The copy of Vogue he understood his willingness to grant, he could replace that on any street corner, and maybe the skin care items that he hadn’t developed strong attachments to, but no one was allowed access to his scarves no matter how darling they might look in the new one by Marc Jacobs.

This time there was nothing to give. “Blaine, I haven’t –”

“Sex you want to have. I’m sure you have fantasies. You’ve thought about what you want.”

Kurt tugged at his collar. Temperature at Dalton must fluctuate like mad. Blaine laughed again and tugged Kurt’s hand away. Blaine’s touches were constant but not unwelcome. Most likely Blaine didn’t notice he was doing it. Kurt stopped functioning whenever Blaine captured his hand. This time was no exception. He gapped, fishlike, with all sensible thoughts deserting him. 

“You said you’ve had a boyfriend before,” Blaine said coyly. Blaine had a way of playing with words to endear himself to whomever he was teasing that worked so well on Kurt. The topic wasn’t worth blushing over and Kurt blushed anyway.

“One of the keys to looking sexy is feeling like you’re sexy. You can fake a lot but feeling desired is a good base to build on. So. Remind yourself what that feels like.”

He hadn’t felt sexy around the boyfriend. That had been the whole problem. Kurt felt like he was playing catch-up the entire time, feigning intimacy with someone he didn’t feel intimate with. Throughout that short-lived relationship, he remembered feeling insecure and _maybe_ like he was useful as a convenient means of achieving sex (theoretically) but never like he, himself, was sexy. It had never made him feel anything but anxious. 

“Maybe sexy just isn’t a look I can pull off.”

“Impossible,” Blaine breathed.

Kurt shifted under his gaze. “You’ve certainly got it down.”

Blaine had made no more attempts to sleep with him after the first night when they met. Kurt’s overactive imagination was at work again. Blaine was acting. Combine (feigned) interest with disarming sweetness and Kurt lost all sense. Crushes came hard and fast for Kurt and no matter how much Kurt argued to himself that frequently visiting Blaine was just for the sake of the show, Blaine was easy to fantasize about. It would be easier on Kurt’s boundaries if Blaine had a horrid personality but instead he was sweet. Inappropriate and mortifying but sweet underneath all that. 

“How about love?” Blaine’s voice pitched low, “Would it be easier to think about being in love and build from there? That’s what you want, right? We could work with that. Everyone’s flattered by an adoring look.” 

Didn’t Kurt know it. Had Blaine been practicing on him and Kurt just bought into it unwittingly? He could swear he got those looks, too. He remembered because, out of all Blaine’s goofy expressions, they were his favorite. 

Kurt snorted indelicately to shake that line of thought. Picturing Blaine in love was cute (picturing Blaine doing pretty much anything was cute). But Blaine was asking for Kurt in love and Kurt in love was a disaster.

“It’s not for me,” Kurt replied dryly. He might have better luck pretending to be sexy, lost cause though it was.

“Right, me neither,” Blaine agreed quickly. “Better in theory than in actuality.” Blaine busied his hands, straightening up his vanity.

Kurt tried _one of those looks_ again. A former action coach recommended finding a close enough emotion to drawn on when he couldn’t relate perfectly to what a character was experiencing. Unfortunately, ‘look like you want sex’ and ‘think about cake’ weren’t a convincing match. Maybe it would work if he took himself out of the equation entirely and thought about _The Notebook_. He didn’t want to ruin that with faked emotion as part of a con, though. Maybe _Bound_. 

“I’m assuming saying love isn’t for you ties to the no sex thing. You seem like the type to believe in love though. Sensitive writer and all.”

“One begets the other.”

“I assumed you a least wanted love. You said that’s why you’ve waited.”

“There’s a difference between _want_ and _should pursue_. For both.” _Want_ was complicated because it often came with unwelcome consequences. He felt compelled to explain to Blaine despite how private and not his business it was. “I have to believe in love: I fall in it all the time, I do ridiculous things in its name, and I embarrass myself, and I let people stomp all over my heart. And I used to tell myself that one of these days it just has to be right. But it’s not worth it. Most of the time it’s all in my head anyway.” 

“I think you just explained my life to me,” Blaine breathed. He laughed it off. “I’m trying to imagine what lovesick Kurt is like. You’re so independent.”

Kurt never felt crestfallen over being called independent before – he usually prided himself on his self-reliance. But juxtaposed against being in love . . . It was his own fault for reinterpreting ‘independent’ as ‘alone by necessity,’ which wasn’t far from the truth either. Add in Kurt’s struggled with physical intimacy and a stubborn streak that resisted feeling coddled or humored even in his most unreasonable moments of throwing up walls and of course no one would want to work through that.

Blaine was lucky Kurt kept his more lovesick tendencies in check. So far. He didn’t like himself very much when he let himself fall. Fragile, heart on his sleeve. In his mind, he regressed to someone smaller and softer so that when he saw his reflection he was surprisingly reminded by the angles and a carefully cultivated air of haughtiness that he was no longer that version of himself. Seeing his reflection now, Kurt had no desire to go back.

“It gets in the way, anyway. I have better ways to occupy my time. I like spending my time bettering myself instead of trying and failing to improve someone else.”

“You’re not as jaded as you pretend to be,” Blaine guessed. 

Kurt waved it off. Everyone put on airs. He might not be this distant version of himself either but at least it’s an affect he’s comfortable with. Without the affect he’s too much what he was. Love-struck Kurt won’t be able to do a damned thing he planned.

Blaine’s hand fell against his arm again. “One day, if you want it, I absolutely believe you’re meant to be in love.”

Kurt watched Blaine and his own reflection in the mirror. He hated being coddled, but he knew Blaine was sincere in the sentiment. In everything.

“I think it’s precious.” Blaine spun him around, away from looking at his own reflection and up a Blaine’s open grin. “Let’s work on your moans. Words you can get all wrong but a good moan…”

***

“I want to be past the point in my life where I feel like this! I’m so much older now, why does it feel the same?” Kurt lamented over the phone to Tina. It was Friday night, and he was flung across his bed whining to one of his oldest friends about boy troubles. _Whining_. What an unattractive quality. Add horrible junk food and he might as well be in high school again. He quite liked that idea, actually, and rolled onto his back to see if that would give him a little more motivation to go retrieve said junk food from the kitchen.

“Are you expecting to eventually grow out of being yourself?”

“Ideally,” Kurt grumbled. He knew letting Blaine into his life could spell trouble, given Blaine’s level of attractiveness and his own history of inappropriate, inconvenient crushes. But he was older, and wiser, and thought he could maybe avoid it this time.

“There’s a difference between _maturity_ and _a personality switch,_ ” Tina laughed. “Maybe falling hard is just what you do. Blaine’s a nice guy. Just let yourself feel what you’re feeling. It might end in heartbreak, but most things do.” 

“Maybe.”

Kurt fantasized frequently and vividly about falling in love. He had his lonely spells. He hated how he felt in actuality but the fantasy was so nice. As long as the fantasy was contained to movie stars or nondescript men who resembled no one he knew, he was fine. Allowing crushes to run their course didn’t work so neatly when they were on people he had to interact with, particularly if he wanted to seem like a normal human being during said interactions. 

That was the problem with Blaine. Blaine was supposed to make men fall in love with him. He probably hadn’t done so intentionally. The best course of action was to stop the crush before it started. Or at least shortly thereafter. Pining didn’t suit him. He was too old to blush this much. If he wasn’t careful, his entire repertoire would become torch songs; _Love, Look Away_ was already stuck in his head constantly. He’d prefer to leave those to Rachel, thank you very much. Sentimental love songs weren’t his style. Not anymore. 

Kurt sat back up. He needed a plan. He was good about planning and working toward goals. Plan #1 to avoid developing a crush – or at least prevent it from developing further – was to focus on Blaine’s flaws. He grabbed a pen and notebook. 

“What are some of Blaine’s less attractive qualities?” Kurt asked into the phone.

“If you have to ask this isn’t going to work,” Tina sang in response. “You have a pros and cons list going already?”

“Just cons, thank you.” Thinking about how amazing Blaine was would help no one. 

“What did you put besides the obvious one?”

“If there was something obviously wrong with him I wouldn’t need your help! Have you seen him?” Thinking about Blaine’s gorgeous appearance really wouldn’t help. 

Tina giggled. “Call me back when you think of it.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t help.” He hung up and set about his list.

‘Tiny’ was never a quality Kurt thought he would appreciate and standing next to Blaine made him feel gangly and coltish in a way that he’d never felt so extremely before. Probably just because Blaine was so fit. If he put his both hands on Blaine’s waist he bet he could . . . Kurt scolding himself for thinking he could find a physical flaw that would stick. He couldn’t allow for distractions.

On the flaw two, then: no concept of personal space. The real problem was that Kurt didn’t mind Blaine crossing his boundaries because it turned out he didn’t have many for Blaine and if he told Blaine he did Blaine would stick to them like Kurt’s word was law. Dwelling on how much he didn’t mind Blaine touching him would do no good. 

Blaine’s tendency to switch into sexy-whisper mode never failed to make Kurt’s knees buckle, which wasn’t a flaw of Blaine’s at all. 

Blaine told him to think of something sexy. Surely that gave him permission to . . . no. No, no, no. Blaine was objectified by everyone. Despite the unusual circumstances, they were friends. He’d like them to stay friends. It was hard to not let his thoughts wander when it came to Blaine. His well toned arms. The sweep of his dark curls. Those unfairly long lashes. The way he leaned into Kurt when they sat close.

Kurt pushed himself out of bed. He’d have to try to stomp out his crush on Blaine later. All he succeeded in doing was add more kindling for that damn torch song. 

***

Awards littered his agent’s office shelves and ranged from the obscure to what looked like an Oscar. Kurt uncharitably assumed she pried them away from her weaker-willed clients who earned them. Kurt crossed his legs to keep himself from jittering. Santana’s presence in the office didn’t bode well for the meeting with an undisclosed purpose given how little his agent otherwise cared for him or his career. Santana glared at his foot entering her space.

“So, Porcelain. I hear you got a gig. You didn’t like what I was throwing your way?”

“Nothing? I’ve gotten better offers,” Kurt said with an overly light tone, already on the defensive. The only job Sue secured for him in the last year was as an occasional babysitter for her daughter, Robin. His last real job he found on his own. Once upon a time, his agent intimidated him and he strove to impress her, hoping she could find the same success for him she found for Santana (which, so far, amounted to a locally run pawn shop commercial). Now he wondered what she had done for him lately. Besides give him a ‘stage name’ of her own choosing that he’d never use. 

“I would not have pegged you as the one I would have to drag in here to say DON’T SLEEP WITH WHO YOU’RE TRYING TO WORK FOR!”

Kurt didn’t even flinch. Santana smirked beside him. 

Sue leaned across her desk. “Just say the words ‘this is not an act of desperation on my part upon realizing I’m getting older and need to be sufficiently famous before there’s a chance that the only male thing I inherit from my father is followed by the words _pattern baldness.’_ Say those words to me, Porcelain, and you have my permission, nay, my _blessing_ to throw yourself at Broadway’s biggest man-whore and let him have his great white way with you because at least then you’ll be showing self-awareness in your stupidity.”

Kurt clamped his hands in his lap to resist checking his hair. Showing insecurities to Sue was a rookie mistake. On the other hand, focusing on vanity and the one trait he absolutely didn’t want to inherit meant he wouldn’t have to think about how if he was more like his dad – if he respected his dad’s wishes – he wouldn’t try to cheat his way to a better job. His intended way of securing funds was one of two secrets he’d want to keep from his dad, and the only one that was his choice.

“I’m running out of time. It can take years to get a show off the ground. With my voice, the only thing I can count on playing is _young._ ” 

“Let’s not rule out androgynous school marm. Keebler elf. Most inanimate or otherwise nonhuman entities that inexplicably must be able to sing. How have we not found a part for you yet?”

“Will Schuester was the only response I got,” Kurt admitted through gritted teeth. 

“Will Schuester loves the sweet smell of desperate actor pouring off of you as much as I do. You’re not, by any stretch of imagination, even to something resembling your _mid_ -twenties. Your experience is limited to middling theatre companies no one’s heard of. Of course no one wants to hand your fresh face a Broadway role yet and you’re acting like you’re sunsetting. In this business, you want a squeaky clean reputation. Speaking of, Santana, bikini car wash commercial is a go if you want it.”

“I want the deets before I agree to anything,” Santana sang.

“It pays,” Sue deadpanned. 

Kurt realized actors had a warped sense of age, but so did producers. Early twenties might not be early enough. For now he could play a lot younger than his actual age with some suspended disbelief about his height. Once he stopped being young the few parts open to him would disappear, Sue’s offer of playing _furniture_ aside. 

Sue slid a magazine across the desk at him. “I heard about your gig from _Trashy Mag Weekly_. Wouldn’t have even known it was about you if they hadn’t said the name of your silly musical. They’re wondering which starlet is willing to ruin her reputation for him. This hypothetical girl doesn’t exist and she’s done for. The gossip will take longer to start about you – might have to cycle through conventional choices in your cast like Santana here first – but it’s coming and tired old casting couch rumors that are already assumed about your gal pals are so much more interesting with a new gay twist. If you decide to pursue this nonsense with Will Schuester, you’ll need him to find you a new agent as well. You won’t be one of Sue’s Kids anymore.”

“So you’re saying the usual perks of being a boy don’t apply to me? Or that everything has its price? That’s not news.” Kurt swung his bag over his shoulder. “You can let me know if the Keebler elves come calling. I’ll let you know the name of the _theatre on Broadway_ where I’ll be.”

He left the magazine on the desk.

***

Kurt held onto his anger on the elevator ride down to main floor and let it power his quick stride out the building. Kurt turned on Santana as soon as she caught up with him on the street. 

“Wasn’t hiring Blaine meddling enough? Now you’ve gone beyond wrecking havoc in my personal life to actively trying to ruin my career before there’s even that much to ruin.” 

Resenting Santana for Blaine didn’t seem possible because of how fond he’d grown of New York’s preppiest prostitute, but the level at which she invited herself into making Kurt’s choices for him set a horrible precedent for the rest of his meddling friends. Sue wasn’t meant to know of his intentions with Will. No one was supposed to know. 

“Oh, please. You’re not that upset about Sue dropping you. You like her even less than everyone else does.”

If it was possible to become more livid Kurt would be for being told how he felt. “You think you know what’s best for me but you don’t. I won’t be manipulated by you and your dubious good intentions, if that’s even your motivation because right now I think attempting to humiliate me is your only game plan.” Getting fired as a client bruised his feelings but he’d recover. Santana intentionally caused that hurt. Because she was bored or jealous or finally had something she could feel morally superior about.

Santana didn’t look the least bit impressed. “I’ve got eight years of experience on you. Eight years.”

“That’s not _all_ you did for eight years, I assume,” Kurt drawled. He wouldn’t trade places with her. Not for that experience now and definitely not for sleeping with the whole high school football team in a play for social status – not that that would have worked for him anyway. Even now she spent so much time trying to be desirable to men she didn’t even want. He didn’t really wanted Will either, but he wanted what Will could give him more than anything. “I thought that was just a rumor.”

“I screwed a lot of unnecessary guys. Total waste of time. Wasting time isn’t the worst thing; you watch enough reality TV to know it can be enjoyable enough as long as your expectations are low. And my expectations were virtually nonexistent.”

Kurt winced and tried to cover it with a look that was more haughtiness and less sympathy. “You want to save me from the error of your ways and tell me what the worst thing is, I suppose, and how I’m walking right into it.” 

Santana flung her hands up in frustration. “You know what, no. you’re a waste of time. Forgive me for thinking I know what you want better than you do. Make whatever stupid decisions you want.”

***

Work with Will came in fits and spurts, as if Will forgot about the show entirely until he called up Kurt and needed something immediately. Arrangements needed to be made for a rehearsal space and a performance space. Casting needed to be official. As far as Kurt knew Will never read the script but he still insisted changes needed to be made. Kurt’s nervousness around Will persisted, afraid at any moment Will would call out “never mind!” and it would all disappear as quickly as it came. Kurt’s effusive outpour of gratitude continued like he had no filter or carefully cultivated air of haughtiness to speak of, embarrassing himself further even if Will didn’t seem to mind.

In the times between show errands and real life Kurt visited Blaine. The crush persisted, as did Blaine’s determination to “help.” His friends agreed to be his cast so much less of a fight than Kurt expected – no one whined about moral qualms or tried to change his mind, not even Santana had something to say – but the most rewarding part was Blaine’s happiness at being included. Kurt got the feeling Blaine almost didn’t expect it, which made him feel terrible for even momentarily contemplating deleting Blaine’s number and ignoring his help. 

Will had yet to try to touch him. On his more optimistic days Kurt liked to think he misread the entire situation. Maybe Will was just a profoundly lonely man with the best of intentions and a poor grasp of boundaries. Which made it all for the best that he met them out of order and pantsed himself for Blaine, leaving Will none the wiser to Kurt’s feeble attempt at seduction. Will knew Kurt only as a babbling child who needed to be rescued. The silly Sexy Lessons with Blaine could be for nothing (a comforting thought). Kurt could go back to never needing to be desirable again.

He doubted Blaine would voice the same optimism so he kept the wishful thinking to himself. 

***

A plain sheet of office paper with the name of the show and the opening date was taped to the door of the theatre when they arrived. It wasn’t a big thing like his name in lights, but Kurt’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. Here was solid, tangible proof that the show was going to happen. That piece of paper made it real. Still temporary, and easily removed, but real. The promise of something more, like his workshop was the promise of an actual run on Broadway or at least the next best thing.

“How does it feel to have your dreams come true?” Will squeezed Kurt’s waist when he ushered him inside. “Tell me what it means to you.”

Gratitude washed over Kurt. The theatre was more majestic than he imagined. The stage wasn't much bigger than the last, but it was raised, giving at least the illusion of grandeur. This whole thing was surreal – his luck changed so quickly. He beamed up at Will, who’d been nothing but kind and encouraging and a little clueless (more than a little) about working relationship boundaries. All Kurt knew was gossip. All anyone knew was gossip. That didn’t tell him what kind of man Will was.

Will shifted impatiently. “That isn’t an answer,” he prompted. 

Kurt’s wide smile faltered. He hadn’t meant to ignore Will. “Oh. I. Everything. It means everything.”

Will didn’t reply. He kept waiting expectantly.

Kurt searched for the words a writer was supposed to have. All the previous gushing ran together in his head. “I’m sorry; I’m not saying this eloquently. I think I’m overwhelmed. Seeing the theatre makes everything seem more real than it did before.” He paused for a moment to see if he had any effect on his mentor. Will’s face remained unreadable. “Thank you, Will.”

“Call me Mr. Schuester,” Will corrected.

The request startled Kurt. He hadn’t addressed Will – _Mr. Schuester_ – by name but had been mentally referring to him as Will so far. Kurt associated using titles and surnames with states a lot further south than his native Ohio, and only for children who were addressing adults. No one he knew addressed their colleagues this way. But in a way it made sense: Will was a big deal, Kurt wasn’t, and if Will wanted a title Kurt would give him a title. He’d call his benefactor whatever he wanted to be called. 

“Tell me I’m changing your life.”

“You’re changing my life?” Kurt didn’t know what to make of this sudden, more demanding change in Mr. Schuester. Was Kurt not grateful enough? The words were true. Surely Mr. Schuester realized the impact he had.

“Tell me I’m making you realize your dreams.”

“You are.”

Again Mr. Schuester waited expectantly. 

“You’re making me realize my dreams?” He felt less like an actor being fed line and more like a child being scolded. How much satisfaction could Mr. Schuester get from Kurt just parroting lines back at him? 

“Since I’m doing so much for you, I think it’s only fair you do something for me.”

***

“Hello, Angel of Death,” Blaine greeted with a smile upon Kurt’s arrival at Dalton’s steps. 

Kurt waited for an explanation.

“Your clothes scream ‘don’t touch me.’” Blaine reached out to touch anyway. He ran his fingers over the spikes on Kurt’s jacket shoulders and then the studded bowtie at his throat. “But I can touch you so I know you’re not a ghost.”

Kurt held perfectly still as Blaine played with the spikes. Injuring Blaine with clothes that came with a warning was the last thing he wanted. His voice came out soft. “It’s just fashion.”

“Can I get a hug?”

Kurt nodded. Blaine slipped his hands around his waist to avoid the shoulder spikes. Kurt relaxed into the touch. Rachel was the only other person who thought to ask his permission. It felt nice: both the asking and the physical connection.

Blaine accompanied him to a magazine stand for Kurt to purchase his own copy of the article Sue mentioned a few weeks prior so he could have it before it went out of distribution. Kurt tucked it away in his bag to ponder on at a later date, when he could allow himself to think of such things.


	7. Your Song

Suggesting Kurt stay the night at a whorehouse after having Schuester’s hands all over him wasn’t Blaine’s finest idea. It took Blaine too long to figure out Kurt looked liked Death for a reason, and even longer to piece together why. By that point, Kurt ditched his spiky layers and was dozing against Blaine’s shoulder in the midst of their _Real Housewives_ marathon. Blaine didn’t want to shake the peaceful calm from Kurt’s expression so he just tried his best to be a good thing to lean on. He could fret about what must’ve happened at the theatre without moving. 

Long after evening passed into late night, Kurt woke with a flailing start at the sound of his phone that had Blaine dodging out of the way. He spiraled into even more panic at Mercedes wondering why he never came home. _Why didn’t Blaine ever think of practical things like calling the people who cared most about Kurt?_ Somewhere across the city people were worried about him and had Kurt apologizing profusely, his voice still thick with sleep. It was too late to want to take anything but a cab that Kurt would refuse to let Blaine pay for and Kurt lived so far away and the words (as always) were out before he thought. “Stay the night with me.”

“Keep your sexual healing to yourself,” Kurt replied vehemently as he tossed his phone down, and Blaine realized how he took the offer and why there was suddenly too much space between them. Kurt shrugged into his studded jacket. “I’m never going to take you up on it so you can just stop offering!”

Blaine slipped off the bed to follow Kurt’s hurried scramble across the room gathering the rest of his things. “Just sleep. I have a giant bed for . . .” _Other reasons, actually, but the sheets are clean._ “We can stay up talking. Like a slumber party. I have a well-maintained chocolate stash and you would not believe how many places will deliver whatever you want whenever you want when you live in a good neighborhood. Do you want to talk? About what happened?”

“Nothing _happened_ to me, I make my own choices.” Kurt held his head high. “Right now, I’m choosing to go home.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending it all even more askew. He sighed in frustration.

“It’s late, and dark, and will you just . . .” He liked having Kurt by his side. He didn’t have much to offer but companionship. If Kurt left, it wouldn’t be to let someone else take care of him. It would be to a lonely apartment where everyone else was asleep and he’d have to comfort himself. “You’re upset. You’ve been upset and you didn’t tell me and you know I don’t always notice these things on my own. Can’t you just be honest with me about that?”

Kurt wound his scarf as tight as a noose around his neck. “It’s late.”

“We’re friends. I’m not trying to do anything but help. If I can. By now I guess you think my Being Sexy lessons were pretty useless.” Blaine gave a self-deprecating half smile that didn’t convince either of them of the casualness intended. He retrieved Kurt’s forgotten spiky bowtie from the floor. “I wanted to help, but I just – I don’t know what I was thinking. I give terrible advice.” 

“You tried.” Kurt slowed his search for his possessions. He accepted the spiky scrap of fabric from Blaine.

Blaine seized the slight bit of acquiescence. “What happened?”

He tugged to loosen the tightly-wound scarf, vulnerability painted across his features. “Nothing. I’m upset about nothing. I don’t know what he wants with me and I don’t _want_ to know so I don’t ask. He made my skin crawl before he even touched me.” 

“You don’t have to. . .”

“More advice?” Kurt fitted the bowtie at his throat.

“I’m sorry.” How few people could Kurt count on right now? And Blaine let him down. Of course sexy lessons weren’t what he needed. Sexiness he had in spades, it was comfort that he lacked.

“I haven’t done anything for you,” Kurt shrugged. “You at least tried.”

It wasn’t a dismissal, but Blaine’s heart still pounded. Now that they had proof that Blaine’s advice was useless, he didn’t have anything that obligated Kurt to keep him in the show. Blaine usually functioned under contracts that kept him from being left with nothing, like the deposit for the night he never slept with Kurt. Kurt could take it all back, a promise was just words, and then Blaine would have to go back to life as usual without the hope of something more, something bigger coming. 

A gleam flashed in Kurt’s eyes. He dropped his bag to the ground with a clatter. “We can fix that! Right now. Let’s go.”

Blaine startled at Kurt’s sudden change from icy and panicky to commanding. “Fix what?”

“I have a perfectly lovely little theatre that should be used for something good. I’m supposed to give you a chance to perform and I haven’t done anything for you yet. We can practice at the theatre.”

“Now?” 

“We’ll sleep better after. I’ve worked too long for this theatre to not think it’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Kurt’s determination to go home morphed into determination to get Blaine on a stage and the next thing he knew Kurt had them _both_ out the door as Kurt placed a second call to Mercedes telling her not to worry or wait up any longer.

Blaine didn’t point out that Kurt intended to use him to replace the memory of Schuester through this method too, but with songs instead of sex and reclaiming a building instead of his body. Occasionally Blaine’s filter worked and kept him from making things worse. Blaine could be supportive of Kurt whatever way he chose to deal. After all his bumbling, he’d do anything to help.

Traveling late at night and bundled against the cold didn’t seem so bad with companionship. The company distracted from how Blaine didn’t do this and Dalton had a car service for a reason and he can’t be the only otherwise functioning adult scared of the dark. The dark, and the pavement, and the things that could bring him to it. He wished he could have left that feeling behind him, in Ohio, along with everything else. His fear from earlier, fear for Kurt, transformed into fear for both of them that he could ignore as long as Kurt kept talking to him. (Years passed, what was _inconsistently_ wrong with him that sometimes still allowed him to feel like this when winter hit?) 

If Kurt noticed Blaine’s tenseness he didn’t say anything about it. He chattered instead about the beauty of the theatre and how perfectly real it was as he led Blaine to the subway. The distance between them stayed wider than usual.

Blaine resisted leaning in just in case he wasn’t supposed to, or reaching out to fix the strands of hair knocked every which way. Blaine liked having a friend. He liked not ruining good things. Kurt’s friendship was the best thing he had. Which is why he had to ask. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” 

“Your shoulders aren’t terribly soft.” Kurt’s cheeks tinged with pink as he smiled. None of his earlier panic shone through.

“After that.” For once, Blaine thought to keep his voice low. The woman in scrubs and the man asleep didn’t seem inclined to cause trouble but his unease hadn’t worn off.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It must have been the sleep’s effect on my mind. I know that’s not what you meant.”

“Kurt, if you wanted to have sex with me it would have happened.” Blaine understood his capacity to make everything worse – he understood very keenly and Kurt probably wasn’t in the mindset for this – but he wanted to be sincere. 

“Oh. Well.” Kurt’s already dodgy ability to maintain eye contact disappeared completely. “I’ll apologize for being rude, then.”

Blaine fought so hard not to touch Kurt to bring him back. “But I’m not going to come on to you if you don’t want me to. You’ve made it clear you don’t want to be propositioned.” 

It wasn’t surprising that Kurt was more skittish and guarded around the topic than usual and questioned Blaine’s motives when they were questionable: the second half of what Santana owed him, due upon services being rendered, was still out there for him to earn. Kurt wanting Blaine to earn it would always, always be a condition, though.

“Thank you.”

Blaine hesitated for just a moment before daring to tease. “When we have sex, you’re going to ask first. Nicely.”

“ _When_ we . . .” Kurt’s eyebrows rose. “You think it’s an inevitability.” 

“Possibly with flowers. Or a serenade. Flashing neon lights. I’m thinking a big, obvious production declaring your intentions. Unambiguously. Graphically, even. I’ll hold out so long you’re going to have to _beg_ for it. And until then it’s just not going to happen.”

The promise to keep even the suggestion of more between them on Kurt’s terms seemed to please him. “Okay. Deal.”

It stung a little that Kurt didn’t want him, in a way he tried not to take personally given how little his bruised ego mattered. Blaine was an expert, wasn’t he? He knew what he was doing. But Kurt wanted a lot more than just a singular experience untied to a relationship, and Blaine admired that: that he valued himself too highly to settle. For anyone but Will Schuester, at least. 

The childish part of him that still took comfort in hero stories daydreamed of rescuing Kurt from Will Schuester (from Kurt himself for creating and then clinging to the delusion that he chose this for himself) despite how he wasn’t the brave, self-possessed, rescuing type. Blaine knew by now who was good for his line of work and who wasn’t. Someone like Kurt who tied sex _exclusively_ to love had no business trading it. Blaine functioned by giving up that foolish notion all together but he didn’t wish the same on Kurt. Kurt deserved love. He deserved someone to make love with. How he didn’t have boys lined up around the block willing to meet whatever specifications just for the chance escaped Blaine. He’d do anything Kurt asked. 

“It’s only fair I give you practice, too,” Kurt said as he ushered Blaine toward the theatre’s glass door with a paper sign declaring LOSER LIKE ME REHEARSALS. “You’re going to love it.”

Blaine breathed a sigh of relief once they were safe inside the tiny lobby of the theatre. His _inconsistently_ paranoid little heart stuttered back to a normal pace with walls around them.

Kurt ran his fingers along the tops of the seats as they passed down the aisle toward the ghost light, Blaine trailing a step or two behind.

_The theatre’s not even nice,_ Blaine thought as he refrained from touching the seats that could stand to be cleaner or at least less ancient. Better, arguably, than where Kurt had been when they met but not the stuff that dreams were made of. Blaine squashed that line of thinking. Were his expensive clothes worth it? What about his caffeine addiction? His books and his CDs and his songbird? Who was anyone to try and determine what was worth what to someone else? Everything had a price.

Blaine graciously accepted Kurt’s hand up to the stage. _Oh._ There was that feeling he expected to hit when he entered the theatre. Blaine stepped into the center of the stage. All those empty seats positioned to watch them, the ghost light backlighting them. 

“You used to do this, right?”

“It’s been years.” Before New York. Before he ran away. How could he feel nostalgia for a time in his life that made him miserable? Back then music was the bright spot in his life. He took solace in performing and to get away from being himself. He still appreciated it but it wasn’t the only thing keeping him functioning now. 

“Imagine whomever you want sitting out there if you need an audience to perform for.” Kurt closed his eyes for a moment as he dreamed up something of his own. “It goes well with the fake orchestra. And lights. And costumes.” He peeked a second later and smiled at Blaine.

“Who do you imagine?”

“Margaret Thatcher,” Kurt replied promptly.

Blaine laughed. It was a personal question, he supposed. Blaine would stick with a nonspecific, lower pressure adoring crowd for his fantasies. Imagining people he knew would only complicate his emotions more than necessary.

“Don’t tell Rachel I’m letting you sing her song.” Kurt handed over sheet music. Blaine turned it over in his hands. _Get It Right._

“I can pluck out the melody if you’d like,” Kurt offered. “I won’t be amazing but it’ll give you an idea of what it sounds like.”

“I can play.” Dalton had the piano because of him. Caged birds sang, after all. 

“In that case . . .” Kurt shrugged off his jacket again, braced his hands on the lid of the piano and pushed himself up. “I’ll vamp.” Kurt gave a happy little kick of self-satisfaction as he settled in.

_Not sexy my ass._ Kurt didn’t learn _that_ from Blaine. Blaine couldn’t teach it, couldn’t even name what strings Kurt was pulling to capture all his attention and hold it by reclining on the piano. His shyness about his body didn’t extend to performance. Kurt knew how to embody space.

As grand as Dalton was, it wasn’t a stage. On a stage, you couldn’t pretend your performance was just for fun among friends, nothing more serious than your own entertainment, that you weren’t that invested in it. You had to believe in your own talent enough to stand there on your own and command everyone else’s attention. Kurt had yet to hear him sing. He needed to impress Kurt and earn a place in the show now that he had nothing else to offer.

Blaine tested out a few chords. There was something about music under his hands and being able to accompany himself that gave him a sense of satisfaction. Musical self-sufficiency. He ran through the instrumentals before slowly adding the words. 

“Good,” Kurt encouraged. “You’re very good. Looks like you’re sticking around. Not that there was any doubt about that!”

Blaine turned the sheet music back to the beginning to try for something less rehearsal and more performance. He knew about making mistakes. About striving for perfection and falling short. Of all the things Blaine needed to get right, this thing with Kurt needed to stick. He needed something to excite him and work toward and feel accomplishment from. He rarely permitted himself to want things so intensely.

He forgot how much he wanted to make art. He stole a glance up at Kurt. And help people. 

Kurt harmonized from his perch on top of the piano and relaxed into a less posed position. He looked at peace up there. Singing with Kurt felt like returning home, if home was a place he’d miss. The end of the song had Blaine wishing he knew how to play more from memory so he could offer to accompany Kurt on whatever he wanted. 

“Come home with me. Stay with me.” The words were out again before Blaine thought them through. He wanted to keep Kurt’s company. Kurt gave him something so much better than Blaine had to offer. Companionship he could offer.

Kurt shook his head. “It’s too easy to forget about the rest of the world at Dalton. I live in this world and I need to keep functioning in it.”

_Then let me come with you_. Blaine bit back the request. It was one thing to invite himself into the cast of a musical. It was quite another to invite him into someone else’s home. After seeing Kurt to the subway, he called Dalton’s car service and waited. 

***

Blaine hurried out to the car and the new driver waiting at the curb with him. Hunter greeted him with a quick appraising look followed by, “Fix your goddamned hair. I’m not taking you all the way uptown to have you turned away at the door.”

Blaine scowled at Hunter’s order. He felt fine with his appearance before he left. He thought he could get away with letting a little curl show and he had little time to coax it into doing anything else. He searched through his bottle of travel gel and fussed with the little-too-much curl showing in his hair to see if it was fixable. Getting turned away on sight only happened a few times and Blaine would like to never experience that again if he could help it.

He should have known better than to lose track of time while playing on his piano in the grand hall. Since that first rehearsal with Kurt he set about practicing with determination, telling himself he needed to get his voice and his fingers back into shape. He learned all of Kurt’s songs by heart. After that came songs he thought Kurt would like and he was halfway through “Not While I’m Around” from _Sweeney Todd_ – it would sound breathtaking with Kurt’s voice – when he realized how late he was.

“Is the sulking for me pointing out you’re not perfect or is it for going to a five star hotel, getting laid, and making money?” Hunter asked. 

Blaine took a breath and tried to push being scolded like a petulant child by someone he barely knew out of mind. He didn’t have time to obsess over Hunter’s words and what he did wrong to deserve them. He could recognize his irrationality and still not be able to help it. He had no right to feel unhappy with the relatively few hours he worked each week even if they inconveniently overlapped with other things he’d rather do, like the pre-rehearsal rehearsal Kurt had the cast assembled for so they’d be in shape before Schuester saw them.

Kurt would be the best client on the increasingly-unlikely chance he ever decided he wanted to be: He projected high-maintenance, but their time spent together went so comfortably, like they’d known each other forever. Blaine rarely got to have the kind of sex that was just fun, where he could relax and enjoy and give pleasure to someone who would feel grateful rather than entitled. Kurt would take to sex fantastically if he just gave it a try. If he had a partner who would introduce him right. Blaine couldn’t see someone as obsessed with performance and success as Kurt developing into anything but a fascinating lover. Kurt didn’t strike him as the type who would snip at Blaine for ruining his fantasies if Blaine didn’t fit to them just right; or tell him he wasn’t as cute as he thought he was. At least not meanly. 

Blaine tugged harder at his hair. He couldn’t solve either of their problems with fantasies. Everyone had days where they just didn’t want to go to work. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with their best friend instead? And, if their best friend were the same combination of hot and adorable as Kurt, sleep with them too? Despite how unlikely that scenario was. He’d feel better if he could make himself look better.

“You don’t have to put on a show for me. Though I must say, your Hurt Feelings Surcharge you’ve got Thad doing for you is brilliant. Pout a little about your oversensitive emotions and suddenly you’re getting paid more. Clever. I respect that. I won’t get in the way of you using their tendency to coddle you to your advantage.”

His stupid overabundance of feelings was exactly why he hated having Hunter as his driver. Clients were emotionally draining enough. At least he got something from them. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. Even with the gel his hair threatened to break free. He body just had to rebel by producing the least desirable hair type. He hoped his client wouldn’t mind that he was failing at hiding it. Starting the night off as a disappointment made everything harder.

Hunter threw an irritated sideways glance at Blaine when Blaine didn’t respond. He probably wasn’t used to being ignored. “You know your looks aren’t going to matter less if you become an actor.”

Blaine fumbled with the bottle after almost dropping it in shock. He never mentioned the show to the Warblers. Hunter looked infinitely more pleased at that reaction.

“How did you . . .?”

“Some of us are perceptive.”

Blaine was spending more time at the piano than he had since he first bought it; he expected the Warblers to notice given how the sound carried. Jeff or Nick or Trent wouldn’t make anything of it, though, other than saying they enjoyed having music again. He honestly didn’t know how the council would react. He wasn’t technically breaking any rules. No one thought to have rules against the adult equivalent of running away to join the circus.

His plan was to not make a big deal out of his new hobby, just let them slowly notice on their own. But Hunter could blow everything out of proportion and turn the story into something entirely out of Blaine’s hands. Blaine’s (unkind) preliminary assessment of the new driver told him Hunter wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to de indebted to; he took the subway rather than the car with Kurt for a reason. “What are you after?”

“A kindred spirit.” Hunter gave him the most unnerving grin. 

“You don’t want piano accompaniment from me.” Blaine may have his over-trusting moments but he can figure that much out for himself.

“Oh, no, I’d much rather be the man behind the curtain making a God out of a country hick. You should set your sights higher than some middling stage production. At Dalton you’re a star. You shouldn’t settle for anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind?” He barely merited inclusion in the cast, but flattery was nice, he supposed, particularly when it came from unlikely sources.

“We should talk career trajectory. Something has to come after whatever inconsequential thing you’re doing with Kurt.”

“I don’t have long term plans.” _For anything._ Anyone who spent more than a few minutes with Blaine knew that he didn’t think things through. 

“That’s your first mistake. You never get anywhere if you don’t plan to get somewhere first. Now, tell me all about this show.”

Blaine tried really hard to trust people that he worked with had the best of intentions. His resentment toward Hunter – uncalled for given all he said was the truth – stayed alive only because of Blaine’s oversensitive feelings. He forced them aside and let Hunter ask all about the show until he dropped Blaine off.


	8. In the Name of Love

All eyes fell on Kurt as soon as he entered the apartment. He thought the living space would be deserted by the time he came home, and instead Santana and Brittany were there as well as his roommates.

“You’re all up late,” he observed as he locked the door behind him. “And half of you don’t live here anymore.” He didn’t mention how it looked like they were staging an intervention.

“Are you telling me that it’s too late at night to be at a friend’s apartment?” Santana asked slyly. She made a show of glancing at her wrist despite how it didn’t hold a watch.

He felt certain that time functioned differently at Dalton. Work on his script used to be what we went to when he needed to escape or daydream. By selling his show, he inescapably tied it to Mr. Schuester and all the strings attached, making it no longer his escape from reality. The thing that made him happy, that felt exclusively his, became Blaine. He stole away to Dalton at every chance he got for the comfort of having Blaine by his side while he sorted through what to do about his long-held Broadway-bound fantasy becoming a reality. 

“You promised to behave if he came back,” Mercedes scolded. “Ignore her, Kurt. Are you okay?”

Santana raised her hands to convey her innocence. “I’m just saying. That’s a lot of time to spend not having orgasms.”

“You think a whole movie is a long time to spend not having orgasms,” Brittany pointed out, followed by a smug, knowing little grin that Santana returned. 

“Can’t take me anywhere.” 

Just like that, Santana and Brittany were lost into their own little world. 

Kurt used the diversion to head to his own bed before they could ask him to stay. His constant repetition of “I’m fine” exhausted him and didn’t become more believable with practice. He didn’t know what else to say. He knew they worried and he didn’t know how to make them stop. 

He expected himself to handle this better. Other people wouldn’t find reasons to cancel all in-person meetings with the person financing their dreams and stick to phone communication. Getting what he wanted was a new feeling for Kurt, but he suspected these things rarely turned out as anticipated. He postponed rehearsals despite how badly he wanted his show to exist and how necessary rehearsals were to that process. His bumbling gratitude morphed into tense silence where he only said thank you when told to do so. He had to get control of himself and hope Mr. Schuester wouldn’t notice before then. He knew what he signed himself up for. He decided it was worth it before he set up their initial meeting. Too late to waver now.

Blaine didn’t hold Kurt’s outburst against him, assuming it was all his fault that Kurt was upset when Kurt could really only blame himself. For that split second of waking up next to Blaine he lost track of what was real: fantasies of Blaine came fast and fleeting at the littlest provocation from Blaine – _the thing he did to straws_ – but he never intentionally conjured one until he tried to replace his benefactor with the man he thought he was getting on that fateful night they met. His prior resolve to not fantasize about Blaine evaporated the second Schuester’s hands were on him. He wished that what he thought was true was actually so, with Blaine flirting instead of _Will_ grabbing. It seemed so easy with Blaine when he thought Blaine was his benefactor. He’d been moments away from agreeing to whatever Blaine wanted when reality interrupted.

He still wished it were Blaine. 

Kurt settled into bed to let the tension from the day drain away. Time with Blaine comforted him but also left him feeling flushed and flustered as his mind inevitably strayed to the fantasies he had conjured to push Schuester out of his mind. He knew his imagination was vivid but, if the Blaine fantasies were any indication, it really outdid itself when under pressure. 

If Blaine were here, Kurt would see if Blaine’s real moans sounded anything like his fake ones. Kurt would be okay taking his time; hurrying through wouldn’t be an option when he could feel Blaine solid under his fingertips, familiar to him even if the acts were new. In his fantasies Kurt didn’t bumble so much. His nerves never got the best of him. There was just him and Blaine and a sense of absolute certainty.

He knew all of Blaine’s seductive looks courtesy of their “lessons,” but the unguarded looks of joy when he was appreciated stuck with Kurt as the far sexier alternative. He liked to think that joy was closer to Blaine’s expression during sex than fake smolder, at least if it was with Kurt. His open expression would let Kurt know exactly how he felt when Kurt touched him, and it wouldn’t be just a shade above _bored and unimpressed_. 

Kurt groaned at his misbehaving, easily distracted mind. He took his hands away from his body. Fantasies were meant to stay fantasies. His benefactor wouldn’t morph into Blaine just because he willed it so.

_I will not masturbate to real people. I will not masturbate to real people. I will not masturbate to real people,_ Kurt mentally chanted. He told himself he wouldn’t make Blaine into a fantasy, and he meant it to hold true even when he really wanted to get off. Fantasizing about Blaine was bound to make things awkward between them: it already had with the terrifying juxtaposition between what he imagined and Blaine telling him it could be real. Blaine was too sweet to subject to Kurt’s mean and defensive streak a second time. He should have picked a celebrity or a movie character he wouldn’t have to worry about being awkward around. 

Blaine was just so much easier to picture, and he needed to picture _something_.

He pushed the thought of Blaine aside and mentally labeled them as for use in case of emergencies only. Back to Taylor Lautner he went. And if Taylor Lautner was a little smaller (a lot smaller) and his hair styled differently in Kurt’s mind, it was just because Kurt hadn’t seen one of his movies in ages.

***

Schuester asked what a rewrite that included a love interest would look like. “Gay,” Kurt had deadpanned, but that didn’t get him off the hook like he thought it might, just Schuester urging him to “be realistic.” Crafting the illusion of love was more Blaine’s area of expertise than Kurt’s, which was how Kurt wound up on a couch in Dalton’s common area, tablet in hand, with Blaine leaning in to watch his indecision in action. 

Kurt absently tapped away on his tablet. Write a line, delete it. Rewrite a line, delete it. Switch to an entirely different section of the play, reread it, and deem it untouchable. Kurt’s interests didn’t lie in love stories in the conventional romantic sense. He had no experience in the matter and they seemed overdone. Everyone else had that genre thoroughly covered, and anything he wrote would read like a personal fantasy. There was enough soul bearing already in his writing. 

Over the course of Kurt’s indecision, Blaine scooted closer and closer until their knees brushed. Kurt generally didn’t allow anyone to look over his shoulder while he tried to write but he was asking for Blaine’s help and responding to that kindness with distance seemed unfair. He turned to allow Blaine to see better and their knees knocked together.

Dalton was tranquil around them, with Warblers milling in and out without interrupting their companionable silence. In the quieter moments between Kurt’s search for a place to fit a love story somewhere, Blaine rested his head against Kurt’s shoulder. 

On their quiet afternoons like this, it was easy to daydream in the contented silence they shared, leaning into each other and sharing coffee like boyfriends instead of friends.

Kurt tipped his head toward the tablet. “Well, this story is doomed. No one’s ever going to get together under our guidance. Can’t do anything but unrequited love.”

“Like there’s not enough longing in the plot,” Blaine teased. 

“Longing I understand.” The oft-given advice of write what you know came to mind. “I know how to act that, at least.” He didn’t mention making use of the Sexy Lessons since they seemed like a sore spot for Blaine.

“You could make me pine after you. You’ll remain, of course, oblivious. Don’t have to act a thing.”

“You just want more speaking lines.” Teasing or not, he liked the idea of giving Blaine more to do: the rest of the cast had their roles carved out for so long that they hadn’t found something for Blaine beyond group numbers. 

“And it’ll give me the chance to tell you how perfect you are every single night and twice when there are matinees.”

Kurt laughed even as his heart skipped a beat. Blaine could sell adoration. Putting him in this plot would play to his strengths. “Maybe we can get you your own song. Rachel’s not going to let you have hers no matter how much you play it.”

“ _We_ could have a song.”

“My solos are for me,” Kurt replied automatically even though he knew that wasn’t what Blaine meant.

“We should have something that’s just ours. Something that doesn’t even exist yet.”

Kurt shook his head. He had no purpose in a love song with Blaine if he wasn’t supposed to reciprocate Blaine’s feelings.

“You don’t have to ply me with additional stage time to get a song. You’ll spare me a plotline I don’t want to touch.”

“No touching, huh?” Blaine resituated himself on the couch to face Kurt, a playful smile on his lips as they drew closer. Blaine’s breath ghosted against his cheek. One heavy breath from Kurt and they’d touch. “Will you be able to look indifferent every time I come close? To tell me you don’t want me and make it convincing?”

Kurt closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Blaine wasn’t there to meet him like he expected. He cracked an eye open. 

“Did I cross a line?” Blaine whispered from where he retreated to. “You got really quiet.”

“No. No, you’re fine.” He liked Blaine close entirely too much. For someone in such a customer-oriented field, Blaine was really bad at reading other people’s reactions. Although Kurt’s mixed signals would be hard for anyone to interpret. All for the best that Blaine didn’t notice Kurt’s temporarily loss of control. “As long as you don’t pull focus on an actual stage.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing, professional or not.”

Kurt stopped himself from saying _I’m sure you’re fantastic._ “Blaine, it’s fine. I’m not upset. There’s nothing for me to even be upset about.” 

Blaine dropped his head into his hands with a whine of frustration. “Why am I letting you ask me for advice again?”

“I like that you care. And you still have a better grasp on love than I do, so no giving up on me.”

Blaine shook his head. “I was really hell-bent on getting married once,” Blaine admitted, peaking from behind his hands. “That’s not a grasp on _reality_ , much less love. Only one I was fooling was myself. I see what I want to see.”

“Oh my god.” Kurt switched to the couch opposite Blaine, kicked one leg over the other so they were perfectly crossed, and dropped his head into his hands, the perfect picture of undivided attention. Nothing cheered up self-doubt quite like realizing questionable decision making was once upon a time even worse. “Okay, ready, go on.”

Blaine laughed. “It’s so mortifying now. _Mass_ amounts of delusion on my part.” Blaine gestured emphatically with a self-deprecating eyeroll so intense he moved his head with it. “We weren’t even dating. I created this whole fantasy about a regular client and how he must be madly in love with me and we were destined to be together and one day we would live on a yacht.”

Kurt held a hand over his mouth to hide the upward twitch of a laugh. Just because it was phrased to be funny didn’t mean it was. “Would you have liked that?”

“I get seasick!” 

They both burst into giggles. Blaine settled immediately when Trent passed through. Kurt’s own giggles tapered off. “Why would you fantasize about something that’ll make you sick?”

Blaine looked up to see if they were still being watched before leaning in conspiringly. “In my fantasies, I don’t have flaws.”

Blaine changed when he was around anyone else. Around the Warblers direct attention, he held himself more stiffly, more respectably, always the blank slate for someone else to write on. Around Kurt’s friends, he oscillated between throwing himself into the spotlight with the rest of them, false bravado and all, and sinking into shadows when they got to be too much. He relaxed in private to his silly, affectionate self that Kurt had seen moments before. Kurt would tease Blaine and ask who he really was, but he knew, and he liked knowing Blaine well enough to spot it all. Even if noticing made him want Blaine all to himself even more.

Lighthearted spin or not, Blaine trusted him to listen seriously. “Tell me about the yacht.” 

Blaine gestured for Kurt to make room on the couch he’d switched to and then pressed against him anyway. “We threw a lot of parties for no discernible reason that required us to dress up and be admired by the guests and brag about our enviable life. I’d meet all his faceless clients who would love me instantly.”

_Another pretty bauble that connoted status, then._ He couldn’t imagine hanging his happiness on someone else’s ambitions. The thought was an unfair assumption. Kurt had his share of rich bitch fantasies that didn’t bother to specify how he got that way. To prove himself wrong, Kurt asked, “And the rest of the time?”

“Never left the bed!” 

Kurt couldn’t help the eyebrow arch.

“I’ve scandalized you.” Blaine grinned, always teasing and nonverbally pleading with Kurt to please find him endearing.

“It’s not my dream. Or at least not all of it.” Rachel’s confession about her own rechanneled ambition came to mind. How if she couldn’t have her dream she’d settle for something easier to obtain.

“Not sure it’s mine either. But it made a nice distraction. Even if it was all in my head. Like I said, I’m _terrible_ at figuring out the feelings thing.”

Wanting to kiss someone’s nose because they were always wrinkling it probably wasn’t normal. Kurt looked away. He could appreciate the need for distractions even when they weren’t in your best interest. And how mortifying realizing that your hope was actually delusion could be. Despite their very different lives, he and Blaine had a lot in common.

They didn’t notice Sebastian draping himself face-first on the leather couch across from them and stuttered his hips into the cushion when the room until he called, “Hey, Blaine, I’m thinking of you.”

Blaine looked down to remove Sebastian from his line of vision but didn’t respond. Kurt didn’t think, just barely processed the tenseness by his side, before snapping, “That’s creepy and obviously unwanted.” 

Sebastian rolled his hips one more time to be a dick. 

“It’s just a joke,” Blaine said softly. He pressed a little closer to Kurt and focused wholeheartedly on the script text.

It irked Kurt that Blaine took issue with being defended instead of with being harassed by an unlikeable, smug poser. He bit back a remark telling Blaine exactly that. He knew berating someone for not standing up for themselves was ten kinds of ironic. He threw his meanest, haughtiest glare in Sebastian’s direction. Kurt had no romantic right to get possessive over Blaine, but he didn’t want Sebastian anywhere near Blaine.

“Look at that face!” Sebastian laughed. “No wonder your homosexuality’s more of an untested theory. Not everyone gets vapors at the hint of sexual prowess, Princess. Blaine’s a big boy.” Sebastian smirked wickedly as he added, “Where it counts. Which I know, and you don’t. Jealous?” 

“When Blaine says it’s a joke, Sebastian, _you’re_ the punchline.” Kurt snipped. 

“You know what else is hilarious? Falling in love with a whore.” Sebastian pushed himself upright. “Only question is who’s kidding himself more.”

Blaine kept pretending to read even after Sebastian left.

“He’s just joking,” Blaine repeated when Kurt didn’t resume writing. 

“You don’t need to make excuses for him. He’s not _just_ anything but a creep.” Kurt hoped that wasn’t overstepping. Maybe Blaine didn’t mind Sebastian as much as Kurt did and Kurt was projecting onto him. He tried not to interfere with Blaine’s job; it wasn’t his business. Sex work sounded horrifying and he tried really, _really_ hard not to judge – he had no room for it when he made his own questionable decisions – but Sebastian was a creep regardless of profession and Blaine taking money for sex didn’t entitle Sebastian to hump anything. The thought of Blaine with Sebastian or anyone else made him worry for Blaine’s fragile heart that didn’t do love out of self-preservation. Because how could sex be any less harmful to someone who wanted so much to be liked?

A small smile played on Blaine’s lips. 

Kurt situated back into Blaine’s side. Let Sebastian see and think whatever he wanted. “In love” or not, Kurt didn’t want to expect anything from Blaine, and Blaine said he didn’t want any obligations. Unlike some people, he could respect Blaine’s wants.

***

The pleasantness of rehearsals lulled Kurt into a false sense of security. After initially showing the theatre to Kurt, Schuester hadn’t asked him for anything. They never mentioned it. Kurt half convinced himself it was a one-time, out of character demand, thought he made sure to address his mentor as “Mr. Schuester” when they spoke. 

The next time was almost as much of a surprise.

His friends couldn’t hold back their excitement over rehearsals finally starting and waves of giddiness cycled through the group and washed out their usual in-fighting, keeping everyone enthusiastic but easily distracted. They tested the limit on how many exclamations of “we’re actually doing this!” they could make. Blaine launched into an instrumental version of an older Taylor Swift song as rehearsal drew to a close for the day and excitement levels were still too high. Santana added vocals as soon as she recognized the tune. Their infectious enthusiasm won the rest of the cast over into providing backup.

Kurt stole a glance in Schuester’s direction. Despite the custom-made drama of their initial meeting, Mr. Schuester never objected to Blaine’s presence within their troupe. It was as if he forgot the incident entirely.

Blaine got up from the piano to coax Kurt in, squeezing an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and over-emphatically singing into his face. Kurt let the silliness of his friends carry him away. He joined in on the repeating “Trouble” chorus and then the exchange of hugs once they reached the end.

Large hands encircled Kurt’s waist and pulled him in as everyone started to leave the stage. Kurt resisted elbowing Mr. Schuester away instinctually. He froze stiff as a board instead.

“You kids have your whole lives ahead of you,” Mr. Schuester stated almost on the verge of proud tears, “and I’m so honored to be able to help form you in your careers.”

Kurt hated being pulled. The possessiveness of it set him on the defensive, the rough touch sending him back to high school – colliding with lockers, dumpster tosses, an attempted swirly from Puck, that horrible kiss with Karofsky. Being manhandled wasn’t a good thing.

“That’s not something I do,” Kurt explained as he tried to pull away from the too-tight embrace. He reminded himself that Schuester meant no harm with his over-familiarity that wouldn’t alarm most people. His poor concept of boundaries struck again but he hadn’t touched Kurt since that day he handed over the theatre. Of course, Kurt had been really good at avoiding him until now.

“There’s a lot you haven’t done yet.” Mr. Schuester said it like Kurt was supposed to find that sexy. His inexperience wasn’t a turn on for _him,_ though. Mr. Schuester seemed interested enough for both of them.

Kurt braced his hands against Mr. Schuester’s chest to maintain some distance. He forced more softness into his voice. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Someone was bound to notice how fake this was, how out of character for him, to be wrapped up in a near-stranger’s arms. He had enough judgment from his friends to deal with and a public display confirming what he previously denied was asking for an altercation. They may not pay attention when they were supposed to, but for his friends, anything worth gossiping about was worth observing, no matter how secret it seemed at the time.

“All I’m asking for is a hug, dammit. I didn’t say ‘get on your knees’ in the middle of a theatre. You’re not _that_ inexperienced. I just saw you with them! Why am I different?”

He had no idea what brought on the change in Mr. Schuester. Kurt hadn’t said a word to him all rehearsal. He was too wrapped up in goofing off with the rest of the cast to give Mr. Schuester something that could be confused with flirting. He didn’t even bumble through his once-customary over-enthused thanks to Mr. Schuester for making the show happen. Kurt felt a twinge of shame for being so ungrateful and incapable of setting his issues aside long enough for something as simple as a hug. 

He’d feel worse if Schuester ever let go long enough to let the contact between them be Kurt’s choice.

Kurt pushed back against Mr. Schuester’s attempts to bring him closer. The loss of control unnerved him most. The air felt too thin in the theatre. Kurt gulped. “Just stop for a moment! Let go!” Panic always sent his voice higher. Kurt stumbled back when Mr. Schuester released him. 

“You are embarrassing us both,” Mr. Schuester hissed. “Grow up.” 

Kurt regained his footing while Mr. Schuester disappeared down the wings.

Blaine caught his eye. Kurt’s face burned, but thankfully Blaine was already taking Mercedes and Rachel’s arms and declaring his deep, sudden desire for ice cream, dead of winter be damned, and how they should leave before it got even colder outside. Kurt felt so weirdly, absurdly grateful for Blaine’s small kindness.

If Mr. Schuester was a boyfriend, Kurt would just break up with him and cry about it later. He had conditions. He didn’t think his standards were all that high: privacy, some affection first, bodily autonomy. Dumping Mr. Schuester was not an option. He had to make amends for being rude. Get back into Mr. Schuester’s good graces. There was no more room left for self-sabotage. 

_Don’t yank. Don’t scowl. If you want to be an actor then act._ He followed Mr. Schuester through the wings, cursing himself for escalating Mr. Schuester’s demands. If he didn’t overreact he might have been able to get away with an awkward hug and nothing more. Now Mr. Schuester had something to prove. _Think of your Tony Award,_ Kurt pleaded with himself. _Think of the magazine article for_ Vanity Fair. _The interview and performance on_ Ellen. _You want to get on that stage somehow. Don’t get in your own way._

“You’re not focused today,” Mr. Schuester scolded as soon as he saw Kurt. “It’s like you don’t care about the show at all.”

Kurt ignored the criticism and cut to what he assumed was the root of the problem. “I’m inexperienced. Sexually. You know that.” His hands fluttered as he smoothed down his outfit, a sign of the shy awkwardness that he regressed to when nervous. “I’ve been so focused on my work. I didn’t make the time for it. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

The retelling of his life story that sounded straight out of a porno-plotline wasn’t an apology but Mr. Schuester took it as such. “We can change that.”

***

Kurt furiously scrubbed his hands after locking himself in the women’s bathroom. They always stocked better soap and that, at least, was a comfort. 

Why didn’t he think to insist on a condom? What kind of idiot was he to not prepare? He could give himself leeway on a lot of things, like thinking that trading sex for fame would be easy for him if he was determined enough, but he thought he had a decent understanding of consequences. 

The Real Will Schuester made a terribly rude awakening in comparison to the charming benefactor as played by Blaine Warbler in Kurt’s mind. How self-important did a man have to be to think his own semen granted _knowledge_? Something about a tribe in New Guinea. Shirking back from his own hand as Mr. Schuester shoved it toward his face with that piece of trivia recalled memories of bullies who thought it was hilarious to make him hit himself.

It’s not true,” Kurt had insisted.” Someone came up with it in order to get . . .” if his hand wasn’t unclean, he would have smacked himself. Kurt was smart enough to cut himself off before saying “blowjobs.” He did not need to plant any more ideas.

At least he had the fantasy of Blaine to cling to. Kurt’s overactive imagination – and how copiously he’d used it lately to conjure Blaine – proved useful in that regard. It was like he went somewhere else entirely.

Kurt permitted himself one more fantasy in the locked women’s bathroom: Blaine guiding his hand under the stream of water with his own, keeping Kurt from putting himself back to normal alone. Enveloped completely, Blaine’s chin tucked over his shoulder and murmuring seductively – despite what they’d just done together – while soaping up both their hands, making promises for the future. He imagined the kind of self-satisfied grin Blaine would wear carefully rubbing their skin clean before bringing Kurt’s hand to his lips for a reverent kiss. 

Blaine’s affectionate touches requesting attention never bothered Kurt. Blaine took such care with him. Even the missteps into inappropriateness came out earnestly. 

Fantasy Blaine wasn’t actually that different from the reality. Once he got past the occupation, and the general cluelessness when it came to reading people, Blaine was exactly what Kurt was looking for. His biggest requirement for a romantic interest was always _nice_ , after all, and Blaine was so sweet to him. The picture of everything he wanted in a relationship – patience, affection, communication –matched everything he knew he’d get with Blaine. 

Kurt’s hands shook for a new reason. 

He didn’t want to be the ridiculous lovesick kid pining after the unattainable fantasy he built Blaine up to be. That didn’t seem like his role in relation to Blaine, though. For one, he wasn’t a kid in comparison to Blaine: he learned that he was actually older if they wanted to quibble over months, which seemed like a silly thing to do anyway. Despite how often Kurt tried not to fantasize about him, the Blaine he saw wasn’t a mere fantasy. He knew Blaine. He couldn’t make someone like Blaine up. 

He fled from the deserted theatre and found himself in front of Dalton. The thought of Blaine comforted him but it paled in comparison to his actual presence.

“Kurt again? You’re always here.” Sebastian smirked from his perch on the council’s table. “Did someone let slip that Blaine’ll give it up for free if you tell him he’s pretty first?”

“Don’t be unkind,” Wes scolded before Kurt could respond. “Kurt, you’ll have to wait around or come back later. Blaine’s with a client.”

“Can you ask him to call me when he’s – sometime later?” With that, all Kurt had to do was wait.

***

Down at a corner shop Kurt touched nearly every bouquet they had before he settled on one that felt right and fit the intended recipient. Part of him rationalized, while he was outside in the cold, that waiting outside of Dalton let Blaine come to him when he was ready rather than forcing his company as soon as he came down the stairs, and the other part appreciated the physical numbness. Kurt didn’t account for the man who almost stumbled over him as he swung open the doors on the way out. Kurt scrambled out of the way, covering his head with his hands, and tailed out of there in the opposite direction without looking back. He decided then that he shouldn’t show up empty handed anyway, and he could use help conveying his intentions. 

Blaine dashed down the steps at Dalton just as Kurt returned. If Kurt was still in his original spot he’d be dodging another foot to the head.

“Kurt! I’m sorry; I should have realized you’d want to talk after rehearsal. I wouldn’t have taken a client if I’d known you’d be here.” Regret tinged his voice. Blaine cast a shy, hurried glance at the roses in Kurt’s hand before looking back up at him. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk? Do you want to come inside?”

Kurt watched Blaine pretend he didn’t want or notice the flowers while fussing over him but was obvious he was curious. He kept glancing hopefully at them. 

“I don’t think my problem with Will can be chalked up to inexperience. He’s not who I want.” He locked eyes with Blaine to gauge if Blaine caught his meaning. 

Blaine wore the same cautiously optimistic expression. He must have concluded the flowers were for him by now. Kurt couldn’t stand waiting for presents and if he were Blaine, he would have snatched them up ages ago. Blaine waited for permission.

“You said you shy away from the romantic but I thought I’d push my luck.” Kurt gestured to the flowers.

Blaine gingerly accepted the bouquet as if the roses were fragile and the petals could fall at the slightest jostle. He lit up with the flowers in hand. Kurt could tell the instant he gave himself over to being happy that the gift was his, not some else’s, and wasn’t going to be taken away. 

“Kurt. They’re beautiful.” Blaine bashfully tipped his head into the buds and inhaled. “Is there someone you do want? Something?”

Kurt smiled fondly. Even with the flowers – roses, a decidedly romantic gesture – Blaine needed to be chosen. Absolutely, unequivocally, wanted with no room for an alternate interpretation. Kurt was beginning to understand Blaine’s own insecurities. 

Kurt dropped to one knee.

“What . . . what are you doing?” Blaine looked around as if Kurt could be on bended knee for anyone else on the deserted street.

“Asking nicely. _For a date,_ ” Kurt clarified. For once Blaine had all the nerves and Kurt felt steady, sure of what he was doing. “Will you, Blaine Warbler, go out with me?”

The confusion didn’t vanish. “It’s Anderson,” Blaine said absently, face tipped back into the red and yellow bouquet.

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt repeated, testing out the sound of it on his tongue. He could get used to saying that name. Already getting to know Blaine better at they hadn’t even had a date yet.

“Where’s this coming from? I mean, I . . . I don’t understand and I can’t give you what you want if I don’t know what that is.”

“Earlier – when I was with Will,” Kurt corrected because his tendency toward coyness wouldn’t help get his meaning across and Blaine needed it put as plainly as possible. He deserved to know. “I was thinking of you.”

Kurt confessed more about his fantasies to Blaine than anyone. He expected – Blaine wouldn’t condescend to him but he still expected _some_ recoil. He didn’t expect to hear “Oh my God, me too!”

Kurt covered his mouth. “Not like – okay, yes, like that, but . . . Oh, this is so inappropriate!” He had a plan for this discussion, and in the plan he didn’t sound like a pervert.

Blaine’s cheerful demeanor retreated. “Does that upset you? You said it first so I thought it would be okay.” Blaine’s grip tightened around the roses. “It’s just a nice thought.”

The thought of Blaine with the guy who almost kicked his head in didn’t thrill Kurt in the least. Blaine imagining _having relations_ with him was equal parts flattering and embarrassing and _distracting_. Kurt traced his hand along his collar. His voice pitched higher, breathier as he tried to focus back on the present. He’d had enough with fantasies. “I shouldn’t have. Yes, it happened, but thinking of you like that isn’t the point of what I was trying to get at. Or new. This is coming out all wrong.” 

He probably should have rehearsed this speech first. Talking about sex seemed too forward for a relationship that hadn’t begun, but the topic of sex, and Kurt’s avoidance thus far, came up too often for them to side step it if they were going to talk about what they wanted out of a relationship. 

Blaine ghosted fingertips over rose petals while he waited.

Kurt tried again. “Thinking of you sexually is easy, Blaine, and easy enough to ignore if I didn’t think we had something else in addition to superficial attraction. Picturing you was a comfort to me. _You_ comfort me. You get my idiosyncrasies. I get why you have yours, too. I wouldn’t ask too much of you.”

“I know you won’t.”

Kurt’s lipped quirked at the tense change out of conditional to something certain. “You have your job and I have my questionable ways of securing funding and that makes anything between us unconventional. But I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want beyond, you know, fame and fortune. And if I’m allowed to want one more thing, I want it to be you.” 

Kurt winced at his stumbled wording: Blaine wasn’t a thing, and object, something to acquire. Blaine didn’t seem to notice. He rocked forward. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

Kurt nodded. A bouquet of roses and a few promises couldn’t quell all Blaine’s fears of getting lost in someone else’s desires. Yet here he was, reaching for Kurt so readily on the chance that something between them wouldn’t end in disaster.

Kurt met him more than halfway.


	9. Silly Love Songs

Instead of anxiety Kurt felt calm. Blaine made his heart pound without filling him with trepidation. They sat there on the steps of Dalton testing the limits of how long they could stay, trading kisses, oblivious to the rest of the world. 

The limit was approximately 10 minutes and then they were interrupted by not one but three Warblers. 

“Dalton is a classy, _discrete_ service,” Wes scolded from the door. “Not a place for graphic displays.” Beside him Jeff and Nick peeked around the frame.

“We weren’t keeping a secret!” Blaine said too quickly to Wes’s scowl, sounding far guiltier than he should considering there was nothing to keep secret until a moment before. “I mean I . . .” Blaine stole a glance at Kurt. “We weren’t, right?” Blaine clutched Kurt’s hand harder.

“No.” Kurt squeezed back. The worry on Blaine’s face retreated a little. Kurt thought getting caught like this would be horrifying, but he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. The worst part was that Wes stopped him in the middle of a very good moment.

“We noticed,” Wes said dryly. “The neighbors probably did as well.”

“Watching Kurt and Blaine make out is like watching puppies snuggle. Who doesn’t love that?”Jeff patted a hand over his heart. 

“Good, wholesome fun,” Nick agreed. “Don’t stop on his account.”

Kurt didn’t want to think on how long they’d been watching.

“Move it inside.” Wes spun on his heel, assuming his orders would be carried out whether he watched or not.

Blaine scrambled up. Kurt hesitated. Steps were one thing and Blaine’s bedroom – or the common area where Nick and Jeff and anyone else could watch supportively and provide encouragement, _god_ – was quite another.

Blaine held out a hand to help him up. “Let’s go for a walk. You can tell me all about this date we’re going on and how soon it’s allowed to start.”

***

More rewrites and more rehearsals for the workshop followed, although Blaine was very good at finding reasons to pull Kurt away from Schuester before they had a chance to be alone. The rest of the cast caught on quickly and soon it was like he had his own personal guard. They all excelled at distractions and excuses, from Rachel making long-winded demands for higher billing or bedazzled microphones that Kurt only half believed she wasn’t serious about, to Tina insisting she and Kurt had a fabric appointment in Brooklyn that they had to leave for immediately, to Brittany’s questions on social media strategies and whether they should involve fondue, to Santana losing all subtlety and spilling coffee down Schuester’s front when she decided he got too close with a not-at-all-believable “oops.” Artie pitched a diva fit about how, as the director and a perfectly capable one at that, Kurt should stop acting like he was running the show and surrender most of the creative control to him. Between their demands, Kurt and Schuester never were free at the same time. The cast never acknowledged what they were doing, humoring Kurt’s stubborn pride. 

The workshop went well enough to secure additional funding and they began working on the fully staged production that they hoped for but was now a certainty. On the first day of the second round of rehearsals Kurt and Blaine stole away to the dressing room under the shakiest of pretenses given the lack of costumes. They bolted for the dressing room faster than reasonable at Kurt’s realization that they could be properly alone there, no roommates or producers or nosy Warblers for once.

“There’s no lock.” Kurt looked around for a chair or something else to prop under the handle but of course the unused room was mostly empty.

Blaine pressed his back against a door. “Come here.” Blaine eagerly coaxed Kurt close, hands at Kurt’s waist and chin tilted up invitingly. 

Infatuation hit hard and relentlessly. Blaine was straight out of fantasies his didn’t know he _had_. He was never close enough. There was work, there was the play, and there was kissing Blaine. Everything else was a tertiary need at best. 

Opportunity went to their heads a little. It’d been hours of sitting next to Blaine or going through a routine alongside him or letting Blaine’s character trail hopefully behind him on stage and not being able to do any of this. Making up for lost time involved a lot of fumbling and Kurt whimpering out embarrassing noises and Blaine separating layers to get at bare skin at Kurt’s waist.

“We should . . .” _Slow down. Stop dancing around intimate moments in dressing rooms. Finish sentences before words disappear from my tongue to make room for Blaine’s._ “Avoid anything too sexual.” Even as he said the words his lips ghosted over Blaine’s. Mixed signals, yet again, he hadn’t figured out the balance to give anything else. 

He felt Blaine’s steadying breath. “Okay,” He murmured, accepting Kurt’s inconsistencies without question and making Kurt want to get back to kissing him more than he already did. Blaine let his head fall back against the door to allow for more space without loosening his grip at Kurt’s waist. “Can you define sexual? I’m not trying to be titillating. I want to do this right.”

“Unfit for public consumption?”

Blaine shook his head. “Those definitions are specific to you.” Which explained the man unabashedly swatting and petting his girlfriend’s ass on the subway ride over like the rest of the car bought tickets to a live sex show. “They’re about what you’re comfortable with. Like, for example, can I put my tongue in your mouth?”

Kurt unwittingly clenched his jaw while images of that scenario washed over him. “You just did.” Kurt hadn’t complained in the slightest. The very recent memory made it hard to insist on talking.

“But can I?” 

Kurt appreciated, considering all the things Blaine didn’t pick up on, that he picked up on that nuance. 

“If you want to.” 

Blaine wanted to. There was no point in Blaine asking for something he didn’t want. A thrill ran through Kurt at the reminder that Blaine wanted _him._

“Not in public,” Kurt clarified, then frowned as he realized his own contradiction. If he knew Wes was going to come down the steps during their series of first kisses he would have been slightly more cautious because letting other people watch them kiss (in any way, but particularly with heat) contradicted the intimacy he wanted to feel for Blaine. Fit for Public Consumption wasn’t good enough of a rule to go by given how constraining his definition was – he wanted more than that. “How about anywhere not covered in clothes is fair game _in private_?”

Blaine released Kurt’s waist and the rumbled layers and Kurt whined in protest.

“Oh?” Blaine brought Kurt’s hand to his lips with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Tell me if you don’t . . .” Kurt sucked in a breath as, after a ghosting kiss at his fingertips, Blaine sucked two of Kurt’s fingers into his mouth. 

“Nggh.” How was that so hot? And obscene. Of all the things to be instantly turned on by, Kurt hadn’t been prepared for that one. 

“You realize by those standards I can do that to you, but a hug is off limits?”

“Touché.” Kurt opened his eyes. He moved his hand, wet fingers held away, to Blaine’s jaw and rubbed a thumb along his cheek. Blaine leaned into the touch, nuzzling into his palm and then turning to plant another kiss there. “Honey, focus.” 

Blaine looked up. “I get endearments?”

Kurt blushed. “When being endearing? Yes.” It slipped out. Blaine was the kind of person you wanted to coo endearments at. “Veto what you don’t like. As for the other thing, let’s say get express permission before going anywhere that’s clothed and below waist level.”

“So, by reverse logic, can we take off your clothes above the waist?”

“That seems fair,” Kurt agreed quickly, surprising himself. Apparently he was okay with more than he thought. As long as it involved Blaine. Reciprocity meant he could maybe get Blaine shirtless sometime in the near future. He’d agree to a lot for that.

Blaine leaned forward to kiss below Kurt’s jaw. He smiled into Kurt’s collar as he toyed with the buttons.

“Maybe asking or considering the situation is a good idea,” Kurt chided without heat, just amusement. He assumed Blaine could figure that much out for himself.

“Well, we are in a dressing room.” Blaine planted a kiss right where the collar turned away from his skin. He left the rest of the buttons alone though.

“Now tell me your boundaries.”

“I don’t have any,” Blaine replied automatically. Something must’ve shown in Kurt’s face because Blaine followed shortly with a hesitant little “Is that okay? Anything I don’t like, I assume you don’t know the words for.”

Kurt snorted. “Don’t try anything I can’t name. Noted.” He bit back a response on how boundaries were exactly what Blaine needed. It’d come across as a psychoanalysis of his job. Kurt’s own career was rife with material for that when honestly he pursued acting because he was fantastic at it – and correcting to say this assessment was based solely on Blaine’s personality and following that unsolicited observation with strict orders to change wouldn’t help with the end goal of developing Blaine’s ability to say no. They’d go slow. They had time to figure it out. Kurt would not allow his obligations to Schuester dictated the timeline. He’d waited this long. . .

***

Caution was hard to keep in mind, particularly when time was limited and Blaine and the play conveniently overlapped. They took precautions like waiting to hold hands until they were out of the neighborhood (and out of Kurt’s neighborhood as well, but that was because it wasn’t a nice neighborhood). Kurt tried to instigate a No Kissing Unless the Door is Locked policy, which morphed into a No Kissing Unless Someone’s Weight is Against the Door policy because too many doors didn’t have locks. Or they would go where no one would think to look altogether. It was only a matter of time before they were caught, and they were, first by Rachel when he thought he’d locked his bedroom door when he hadn’t and then by Santana when she looked up and noticed them lost in each other on the catwalks. 

“Congratulations on making up for years of missed sexing opportunities, but this plan is even less incognito than your usual mooning over each other with heart eyes, honeys,” she called up at them. “No one’s going to believe you if you say you’re rehearsing a balcony scene.”

Kurt turned just enough to scowl at her, unable to move too far from Blaine’s embrace. He needed better hiding places to be alone with Blaine.

Blaine murmured, low for only Kurt to hear and with more urgency in his voice than Kurt would expect, “O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, so thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.”

Kurt’s laugh came out giddy and disbelieving. “How are you real?” Blaine continually surprised him. He fought to remember that he couldn’t allow himself to kiss Blaine again while they were being watched, as tempted as it was. Forget the catwalks, Kurt could float on his own.

Santana tapped her foot impatiently. “Kurt, you can fool around with the whore after you let Schuester break your hymen.” 

“Isn’t that the reverse of what you wanted?” Kurt snipped. They reluctantly disentangled the rest of the way. She seemed too far away for it to be pressing as their feet dangled above the ground. Blaine fixed a strand of Kurt’s hair that had gone askew, his expression still soft and open. Blaine was so, so good to him. Why did he do anything besides kiss Blaine? Kurt unconsciously tipped forward again, noses brushing, eyes only for Blaine. And his lips. Blaine’s lips deserved all Kurt’s attention.

“Should’ve changed your mind before I got invested in my stardom. Now I’ve changed mine. You know how possessive Schuester is. He’s gonna flip his shit. Learn. To. Hide. Better.”

Bored with the lack of focus on her, Santana turned to leave.

“You won’t tell,” Kurt called after her as she retreated through the wings. He means for it to be a statement. There was a waiver of a question at the end. Santana seemed to hate Schuester even more than she hated everyone else, but she was unpredictable around 1) secrets and 2) fame. 

Santana leaned back into view just long enough to throw an incredulous look up at them. “How could I know what goes on 12 feet over my head?” 

He felt like they were floating. He thought working on the show was as fulfilled as he would ever be. He fought to keep himself grounded. Part of him had to wait for the inevitable undesirable consequence that followed being so satisfied. Schuester’s moods swung unpredictably. Kurt’s recklessness with his affections could cost them the show, and his friends couldn’t keep running interference forever. 

Blaine kept his distance despite their unintended audience’s departure, waiting for a sign from Kurt to tell him how to react. Kurt scooted closer. “Don’t worry. You heard Santana. We’re untouchable.”

***

Blaine caught up with Santana as she and Brittany, pinkies linked, headed to the theatre exit.

“Our deal’s off,” he called.

“Too invested in your stardom to follow through?” Santana placed her free hand on her hip. “Because I was goading him. This is all limbo – we all knew when we signed up that it would be best if it didn’t happen – and you should’ve known the goal was to make it come crashing down, not to give you a chance at your singing/dancing/smarming dreams. He’s supposed to pick you.”

“He won’t do that for me. I’m not asking him to.” Kurt would never let the show be ripped from under him. Nothing mattered to him more than getting the show in front of an audience. Blaine couldn’t change their circumstances. They had to make their relationship work within the confines. Blaine didn’t say _I think I’m too late_. It wasn’t for him to say. “Can you settle your bill with Dalton? Formally?”

Santana leaned hard, her jaw set. Blaine resisted the urge to retreat. Her voice hit dangerously low. “Deposit was upfront. So. Do I owe you anything?”

“No, no of course not! I’m not asking you to pay for my _relationship_. I need you to make it official. I don’t want there to be any confusion.”

“Kurt doesn’t like ambiguity. It’s a very romantic request,” Brittany nodded. “You love him because you want to.”

“It wasn’t a _love_ contract you made. Kurt’s still keeping you waiting? He’s dating you and he’s not the least bit worried about sealing the deal?” Santana laughed. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“Kurt gets what Kurt wants,” Brittany explained. As if Blaine didn’t already know.

“The one night I got him wasn’t good enough, oh no, he wants all of you on his terms. I must have picked the perfect boy out of all the Stepford boys.”

He didn’t care how flippant Santana was; he was going to like her anyway. He’d admire anyone who was so unapologetically who they were. It led to a lot of unhealthy relationships (and a lot of people who weren’t so forgiving about who Blaine was), but also to Kurt. Blaine hadn’t wanted love for himself, mostly out of the tiny scrap of self-preservation he had left, but Kurt was impossible to resist. He forgot all reservations when it came to Kurt. No way could his heart be in trouble.

“So what’s the time limit here?” Santana teased. “How badly do you need this done right now? Sometime in the next few months okay?”

He thought of Kurt all the time. It would be Kurt’s decision, whenever Kurt was ready, whether that was days or weeks or months or years away. He understood she wasn’t serious but answered honestly. “As soon as possible, please.”

The fewer outside obligations the better.

***

“Maybe it doesn’t count as losing _your_ virginity unless _you’re_ the one who orgasms,” Blaine murmured, apropos of nothing as far as Kurt was concerned, his lips brushing against Kurt’s skin. Despite his master status in both Seductive Looks and Moaning, Blaine clearly never wrapped his head around The Art of Pillow Talk.

“I know a lot of women who’d be happy to hear that,” Kurt said wryly. He resisted rolling his eyes at the wall. A few more moments of quiet and Blaine's steady touch holding them together and Kurt could just slip away, but instead Blaine had to try and help. Kurt didn’t find it comforting to rehash definitions after dodging another ‘private rehearsal’ with Will – talking in general wasn’t his goal when he’d thrown caution to the wind, led Blaine to lie down on his bed, and wrapped Blaine’s arms around him to relax into the comfort of being held. He was pretty sure Blaine would offer up any definition as long as long as it would make Blaine the one he’ll lose it to. 

Blaine meant well, so Kurt chose to try and settle for amusement over annoyance. “Does that mean everyone pretty much takes their own virginity via masturbation? Sounds empowering. Very self-reliant of me.”

“Mmm. Your self-reliance turns me on _so much._ ” Blaine chuckled low into Kurt’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin he exposed there for good measure, pushing the sleeve of Kurt’s t-shirt out of the way. “Not what I meant but feel free to tell me more about it.”

“Okay, so it’s a little silly,” Kurt admitted despite his gleeful amusement at his own definition that no one else would ever accept. He might mentally count it anyway. Perhaps it was a sign of self-centeredness but he liked that he was the only one that mattered in that definition: it was a decision he well and truly made for himself, and shouldn’t what he’d done for his own sexual pleasure count the most? At least if he said it did?

“You’re allowed to like silly things.”

Kurt bit back a joke about liking Blaine. One Blaine’s many endearing quirks was a habit of making pronouncements like that, as if Kurt needed someone to give him permission to his feelings. Kurt didn’t wait for permission for much of anything, least of all his own feelings. Yet another thing Blaine did to be kind that Kurt didn’t understand but tried to appreciate anyway. 

“What I’d like is to escape everyone else’s virginity anxiety. Is there anything else that people care about so much the first time and then not at all after that?”

“Kids?”

“You’re horrible!” _And not an only child_. Kurt made a mental note to ask about Blaine’s older sibling(s) later, with a less what’s-your-childhood-trauma segue. Soon enough Kurt would introduce Blaine to his own brother, when Finn came out to see the show. It was a quieting thought. Finn symbolized so much of Kurt’s life before the show and outside of New York. Nothing forced Kurt to reflect on his boyfriend the prostitute and a show that hinged on seducing the financer quite like an impending brunch date with his brother.

Kurt settled further into Blaine’s embrace. “It doesn’t matter. Not counting something as significant doesn’t erase it from happening altogether. Picking a finite moment doesn’t change what I’ve done for Will. Or how little it means to me compared to the brush of fingertips with you.”

Blaine ran his fingers playfully down Kurt’s arm. “I love every part of you,” Blaine whispered against his skin. 

“You don’t know every part of me.” Kurt’s voice came out soft as well. He couldn’t stay even mildly annoyed at Blaine’s ability to obtusely say whatever came to mind when he was also capable of saying things like that.

“I love every part of you that I know and I see no reason why that trend wouldn’t continue.” Blaine’s hand teased around Kurt’s midriff and the hem of his t-shirt. Kurt marveled both at the physical feeling that had him leaning into Blaine and how un-tense he felt about it. Kurt didn’t usual let himself this close to anyone, not to just feel. With Blaine there was no reason for their constant touch other than want. When he was still he could hear Blaine’s heart beating. He could feel each breath Blaine took. He radiated warmth. Out of all his choices Blaine would always, always be easy to explain.

Blaine tipped his chin over Kurt’s shoulder. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

“That’s an ominous segue in a conversation,” Kurt teased, wariness of what was to follow quickly replacing the sense of calm he was finally settling into. Blaine sounded playful but something must be on his mind to lead with that kind of caution. He turned in Blaine’s arms so they were face to face.

“Nothing bad. I don’t think.” Blaine’s eyes were earnestly wide.

“Then I won’t freak out.”

Blaine took a breath. “I love you. I told you in a quote, and I said I love everything _about you,_ and it doesn’t seem fair to leave it like that. It should be real. And unambiguous. So. I love you.”

“And it’s not bad?” Kurt confirmed with just a little waver. Despite the previous hints at something close to it, Blaine’s confession took him by surprise given Blaine’s track record with love. He kept his excitement firmly under wraps while he watched Blaine’s expression for a sign that told him he could be happy with the news.

“I think I’ve got it bad but it’s definitely not a bad feeling.” Blaine ran a nervous hand over his hair. “You told me we’re untouchable. I can’t doubt in us after that. Even I can’t screw that up, right?” Blaine’s nose wrinkled to counteract self-deprecation with being endearing.

“Oh!” Kurt belated realized he hadn’t said it back. “I love you, too.”

He hadn’t realized how tensely Blaine held himself until he relaxed. A dopey grin splayed across Blaine’s face. Perhaps Blaine told him things he needed to hear himself. Blaine deserved to hear it. “I’ll try not to screw anything up either.” Blaine tried to take care with Kurt’s feelings and he should return the kindness. “You’re too cute not to keep around.”

He felt the want in Blaine’s kiss. The relief too. Kurt could feel Blaine’s heart pounding through the thin layers between them. He worked the first two buttons of Blaine’s shirt free to kiss over the accelerated beat.

“I love you,” he repeated. So pleased to say it. This was why people in love were so smug, he thought. Out of all the things he’d screwed up lately, he’d gotten this right.

He could tell Blaine was hard. “Subtle” would never be a word he would use to describe Blaine. Blaine got all wiggly and flushed and suddenly failed at maintaining eye contact as he tried to angle his hips away as much as possible. Endearing. His boyfriend’s hard on was endearing. There’s something he hadn’t expected.

He was probably even more endearing with his pants off. Kurt turned that piece of information over in his mind.


	10. Come What May

Blaine’s renewed enthusiasm for music spread. The Warblers convinced Blaine to play for them while he waited for Kurt to arrive, and the list of requests grew as more and more Warblers joined them, long enough to keep him playing long after Kurt showed up. Any other time the flattery of their desire to have him play for them would be all he needed to sit with them through the evening. It wasn’t how he intended to spend a spring afternoon at Dalton with Kurt visiting. The sun streaming through the grand windows taunted him with the reminder of how much he wanted to see Kurt’s skin bathed in all that natural light. How close it was to reality if they could just be alone.

Kurt laughed when Blaine cast another furtive look at the door. “You inspired them. It’s sweet.”

One more song and then he’d make his excuses. He’d give himself five more minutes of social obligation. 

Blaine craned his neck at what he thought was his name spoken in the hallway. He shook it off and kept playing. He must’ve misheard.

“You’re going to let him waste himself on a cheap cabaret.”

Blaine’s music stuttered. Kurt tilted his head toward the hallway. “Do you want me to spy? If so, you have to keep playing piano.”

“Hunter’s always picking a fight.” Trent waved dismissively. “It’d be more noteworthy if he wasn’t. Go back to the music.”

Proving Trent right, the sound of Hunter’s half of the argument reached them again. “Do you realize how much money we could make?”

“It’s the definition of low-rent,” Wes calmly responded, audible in the common room for the first time. “Your proposition doesn’t fit with our image.”

“But a fucking cabaret…”

Trent sighed at the interruption to his solo. 

“Wes will smack down whatever nonsense he’s going on about. Not suffering fools is, like, his superpower,” Nick said reassuringly to Kurt as Kurt dropped all pretense of not listening in. 

“This makes no business sense,” Hunter continued with a scowl in his voice. 

Wes appeared in the entryway. “Blaine, try not to play anything that’s going to kill the mood. Sound carries.”

Hunter stormed in after him. “Must be nice to be the hottest slut around. Everyone bends over backwards for you.”

“And pays you for the pleasure of it!” Trent said with a snap. The other Warblers laughed, Jeff elbowing Trent’s side for going for such an obvious punchline. 

Usually sharing secrets brought people closer together, but confessing his Broadway dreams to Hunter clearly hadn’t endeared him: Blaine could tell that Hunter felt nothing for him. The attention-loving, people-pleasing part of him – which admittedly made up a very large portion of the whole of him – couldn’t comprehend how someone like Hunter didn’t want to be friends with him when Blaine tried so hard to be someone everyone liked. 

Blaine reminded himself that it wasn’t personal: Hunter was always barking orders at the other Warblers and wheedling with the council. Warblers stepped out of his way in the halls. Blaine didn’t understand how someone could either not notice or not care about his negative effect on others.

Hunter continued to press his issue. “The council should be involved in this decision.” 

Wes’s judgmental eyebrow arch could rival Kurt’s. “If I want an opinion, other than the driver’s, I’ll consider it.” He turned to Blaine. “Can you do Madonna?”

Wes loosened his suit jacket and tore into _Papa Don’t Preach_. 

Alongside him, Kurt clapped gleefully at Wes was sassing Hunter through song, although Wes looked directly a Blaine when he said “ _what I need right now is some good advice._ ” Hunter left before Wes finished.

Kurt’s eyes followed Hunter’s retreat while Wes took a bow. “He’s up to something.” 

“Some people don’t like music.” Blaine didn’t understand how that could be, but he’d heard people say that and he tried not to doubt their ability to understand their own likes. “Sound carries, like Wes said.”

“I know what scheming looks like, Blaine. You may believe the best in everyone but I know a kindred spirit when I see one. We’re always up to something, and his something involves you.”

“I’d rather be involved in your plots.” He nudged Kurt’s side playfully. “I think Wes gave the perfect final performance for the day.” Blaine cast a pointedly longing eye at the door. 

Kurt grinned. “I can come up with something then.” 

***

The spirit of Kurt’s No Touching Below the Waist rule was kept mostly intact when Blaine straddled Kurt’s lap on Kurt’s bed, with his knees sometimes bumping Kurt’s hips when he got too distracted by what their mouths were doing, but it felt a little like cheating. Even more so than all the _other_ ways to make him moan Blaine explored without a single move below the belt. It’d be so easy for Kurt to let his hands slip down Blaine’s body, beyond the invisible lines they drew. 

He grew tired of waiting, and cold showers, and mixed signals as he repeatedly, accidentally broke his own rules in his rush to be as close as possible.

Kurt tended to have pretty good tabs on what he wanted, given that it was such an extensive list: a resume that wasn’t laughably short or filled with lies, a chance for the show he spent years working on to be seen and appreciated, Blaine. Blaine in general and Blaine in every spare moment of time and Blaine in years to come, if Kurt could be so lucky. And Blaine in his bed, like this moment, carefree an beautiful and without any defenses up, sharing as much space as Kurt allowed. 

Waiting for Blaine to make a move led nowhere: he’d edge Blaine’s hand as low on his hips as he dared but Blaine never moved beyond where he had express permission to be. If Kurt jostled them anymore the touching he was after would be accidental and there would be apologies and worries from both of them about overstepping but not _progress_. He didn’t want to just shove Blaine’s hand down his pants and hope Blaine was willing: he wanted permission and Blaine no doubt wanted permission and no one wanted to push. So Kurt forced himself to be as still as possible and hint instead. He even tried Blaine’s How to Seduce Someone Techniques (TM, probably) in hopes that Blaine would recognize something. He didn’t need to think about cheesecake to convey desire, which presumably made the looks more convincing. The sex he wanted to have was so tantalizingly close.

He had to say something. All the coy looks and indiscrete moans couldn’t convey exactly what he wanted, that’s what words were for.

Breaking away from Blaine drew a breathy gasp from Kurt even though he was the one to initiate it. Stopping was hard for them. One would linger and lean back in and the other would follow. They lost whole afternoons that way. Kissing Blaine was addicting and Blaine didn’t help – he never willingly let Kurt go unless commanded to do so.

Kurt paused a moment to regain his voice. “Do you ever want more?”

He had an active imagination and a goal-oriented personality; his own want shouldn’t have surprised him. 

Thoughts about them together came to Kurt more and more. Enough that thoughts started to look like plans. Very detailed plans that led to a less-embarrassing-than-foreseen trip to the convenience store for supplies. Nothing said “I don’t know what I’m doing” like actually looking at the options for what seemed like ages, but Kurt was nothing if not determined to be successful. Next time, once they ran out, he’d make Blaine go with him so they could giggle and browse and fantasize together. 

Intentionality mattered to Kurt. His strict hands above the waist rule suited his desire to take this step together completely aware of what they were doing by breaking it. Every time he was alone with Blaine the thought crossed his mind. 

“We’ll wait. We’ll wait as long as you want,” Blaine promised, which wasn’t really an answer. “I won’t pressure you. I need more than that from you. I want so much.”

“But if you didn't have to . . . Wait, what?” Kurt cut himself off from his original line of thought as curiosity piqued. “Like what?” the sentiment was generic enough, but Blaine didn’t just say sentimental nonsense he didn’t mean. Flattery seemed like an impending possibility; he could derail his intended conversation for a moment.

“Well . . .” Blaine eased himself out of Kurt’s lap with one last playful kiss to Kurt’s cheek. “ _Everything_ is cheating, isn’t it?” 

Discontent with the distance Blaine tried to give, Kurt kept their momentum going and swung a leg over Blaine’s lap. Blaine huffed with little laugh as he moved his hands to Kurt’s waist to help him get settled. They swayed under the transfer of weight. Kurt brushed his nose against Blaine’s encouragingly.

“I want to bring you flowers on opening night. I want you see your curtain call and know when you blow a kiss it’s meant for me. I want to be there for your first award. I want to see everything you do. I want you around to keep me grounded. So I know I’m here for a reason. Before I met you my world was black and white. You made it Technicolor.” 

“Blaine . . .” Flattery worked wonders on him every time, but Blaine’s heartfelt confession appealed to more than just his vanity. Kurt felt loved. Grateful. Lucky. He loved Blaine for being the kind of person to make a relationship bucket list. For letting Kurt see his earnestness. Kurt intended to proposition Blaine when he initiated this conversation. Blaine made it so easy to follow through. 

“I want you,” he murmured against Blaine’s cheek. “It’s not about beating Will to the punch or finally have this experience over with. You’re sweet and charming and I want you, Blaine. I want to do this with you. Please don’t say no unless it’s on your own behalf.”

“Kurt, I -” Blaine’s voice caught. “How could I not want another way to be close to you?”

“So…” Another Eskimo kiss for courage since Blaine confessed once he found the little nudging touch to be incredibly sweet and ‘the perfect epitome of their relationship.’ “Can we close the space?”

“As close as you want,” Blaine swore.

Kurt pushed himself off of Blaine’s lap.

“Um. I was hoping it’d be in the opposite direction?” Blaine’s forehead wrinkled at the suddenly wide berth between them.

“I didn’t get up to start _putting on_ more clothes.” Kurt tugged Blaine into standing with him. 

Blaine let himself be led. “Give me boundaries.”

Kurt considered. _Start gentle. Go slow._ Blaine knew how to be careful and respectful and that wouldn’t change. “Don’t be anyone but you.”

“Never pretend for you,” Blaine promised as he surged forward, his hands on Kurt’s face to guide them. Kurt parted his lips and let Blaine overwhelm his senses. 

Blaine undid the watch clasp and kissed Kurt’s wrist as he handed it over. They continued like that with Blaine removing accessories and articles of clothing and Kurt setting them aside with less and less care as they progressed until his vest and collared shirt were in a pile on the floor. Blaine barely needed to reach for the buttons before Kurt had it off and he was left in a plain white t-shirt and skinny jeans. 

“Oh, there you are.” Blaine rubbed his thumb over the thin sleeve, the last of the layers. 

“Here I am.” Kurt swayed coyly in agreement, leaning further into Blaine’s touch. They were almost touching everywhere. He couldn’t help the giddy smile that broke through.

“Tell me you want to see me naked,” Blaine breathed against his lips.

Kurt took his own steadying breath. He had years of practice strictly containing his desires, carefully censuring his actions so he wouldn’t be so damned _obvious_ all the time. Just as carefully he let them go. They both deserved honesty.

Kurt only took a moment before pulling back just enough to look into Blaine’s eyes, down to his mouth, and back. “All of you. I want to see all of you.”

He tugged on Blaine’s shirt until Blaine moved his arms up out of the way. Blaine wasn’t all that keen on being helpful while focused on Kurt’s belt and figuring out how to unbuckle it. Kurt would explain it to him in a moment, once he got over the cute furrow on Blaine’s forehead as Blaine ran his fingers along the full length of the belt with no clasp in sight. Despite Kurt’s fumbling and Blaine’s focus elsewhere, Blaine’s pants were much easier.

The sight left Kurt dumbstruck. “I think your underpants are fancier than mine.” 

He covered his mouth but a nervous giggle squeaked out from between his fingers. He didn’t foresee this, hadn’t even entertained the idea and sorted out how to respond. No one outdid him on fashion, but where Kurt valued quality Blaine clearly valued style. And sex appeal. And not a lot of fabric. The skimpy briefs cut across the cheek and low on his hips and were practically neon in their brightness. They were so blatantly for show, for someone like Kurt to look and admire and forget all else. 

Blaine coaxed Kurt into uncovering his mouth. “Buy different, fancier ones later if that’s important to you,” Blaine responded with just a hint of a whine at the halt in their progress. “Or, if you’re that jealous, take mine off.”

Kurt couldn’t help another high laugh, shaking off his false start. “I like your pragmatic approach.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to compete in a fancy underpants one-upmanship, as entertaining as it sounded in theory; Blaine’s were blatantly sexy in a way Kurt didn’t see working on himself nearly as spectacularly as they did on Blaine. Blaine had fantastic legs and Kurt could see every compact inch of them, as well as the jut of his hipbones. Without thinking Kurt reached out to touch before he caught himself hovering over the seam.

“Do it,” Blaine breathed.

Kurt skimmed a thumb along Blaine’s hip. “I’m decidedly not upset.” Why compete when he could admire? There wasn’t all that much fabric, which just made it that much easier to try and touch every square inch.

Blaine rocked forward into a kiss that was more about closeness _now_ than precision. “Please get naked.” Blaine whined as his hands snaked back around Kurt’s belt to figure out how it was clasped. 

Kurt stilled Blaine’s hands. He undid his belt himself. Kurt hooked his thumbs into his skinny jeans. “May I?”

“Let me help. Please.” Blaine’s eyes were so earnest. 

Kurt was tempted to acquiesce. He appreciated the asking and that Blaine wanted to enough to ask. It’s not like he was asking for much, or that he ever did. But Kurt wanted the control. The intentionality. He wanted to be able to look back and know with absolute certainty he acted on his own desire instead of just allowing it to happen to him.

“Next time,” Kurt promised. “We’ll get there.”

“Next time,” Blaine repeated in a fond voice Kurt thought of as _his_. “Sounds perfect.”

He had time to think _I’m naked_ dumbly before Blaine pulled him into a searing kiss. 

“Is this okay? Tell me if you’re not okay,” Blaine pleaded between kisses. Blaine’s hands ghosted along Kurt’s waist down to his hips and back.

“So much better than okay.” Calm wasn’t the right word. He felt sure.

“You’re beautiful,” Blaine whispered as he pressed against Kurt.

“Oh god.” Kurt writhed. He could feel Blaine everywhere. He rested his hand once again on the skimpy material at Blaine’s hips that left very little to the imagination. Kurt had done very well on nothing but imagination, and he was officially over it. Blaine bare against his skin would be like heaven. He looped his thumbs through the waistband. But first . . .

“I bought condoms. We can use yours, I’m not invested in using mine over yours, but they were part of my planning ahead.”

Blaine’s grip tightened. “That’s so hot,” He breathed against Kurt’s neck.

“I just said you don’t have to humor me,” Kurt laughed. He twisted in Blaine’s arms to pull the box out of a nightstand anyway. “Not in so many words, but the sentiment. We can use yours.”

Blaine plucked out a foil packet. “You thought about us when you picked them out?”

“Yes.”

“I stand by what I said.” Blaine guided Kurt to the edge of the turned- down bed. Blaine touched lightly as he rolled the condom onto Kurt. Kurt tried not to squirm as his mind echoed Blaine’s earlier statement: that’s so hot, that’s so hot. His eyes fluttered close until he couldn’t stand not seeing his boyfriend’s expression. 

Blaine kissed the tip with a loud “mwah!” Kurt was torn between giggling and moaning and the sound that came out was a high pitched combination of the two. Blaine grinned before slowly repeating the motion. 

Kurt sank back to allow Blaine more room on the bed and grappled behind him for the other necessary condom.

Blaine kept teasing kisses to his stomach and thighs while Kurt tried to read the instructions on the packet one more time, the words not sinking in when he couldn’t focus on anything but _Blaine’s mouth_ on him, soft and tentatively exploring and so distracting, until finally Kurt whined, “honey, I want to do this right!”

“I wasn’t planning on letting you do it wrong?” Blaine petted at his thigh. “Come here. Closer, I mean.”

Kurt propped himself back up, which proved more difficult than expected because _wow_ , what a rush to the head. Blaine offered a hand to guide Kurt and Kurt felt ridiculous but Blaine looked so adoring. And naked.

“We’re doing this together, right, so . . . Everything’ll be fine.” He wrinkled his nose at Kurt, squinting and trying to be cute. Succeeding, of course he was succeeding. 

Kurt grabbed the packet he was fumbling for – so much easier when he could see what he was trying to grasp – and opened it to gingerly pulled out the condom. He kept the foil with the directions in his other hand. He knew how it was supposed to work - he’d seen Blaine do it just moments before – but Blaine was so careful with him and Kurt wanted to treat Blaine with the same care, which meant checking the instructions for the tenth time in a row in case they had somehow changed on him. 

Blaine plucked the foil out of Kurt’s hand and tossed it aside, guiding Kurt’s hands through rolling it on so easily. 

“Perfect,” Blaine murmured. 

Kurt stared at his hands on Blaine’s body and mouthed “perfect” back at him. 

“You’re allowed to be nervous.” Eyes wide and earnest as always. Kurt could feel the tremor between them that wasn’t caused by his own unsteady hands.

Blaine had a tendency to say what he needed to hear. 

“Love you, this . . . both are really working for me.” Kurt responded breathily. “Everything will be fine,” he repeated back at Blaine. 

They tumbled together to lie horizontal onto the bed, scooting higher up and beckoning for the other to follow. Kurt hadn’t realized how hard he’d been working to keep his hands to himself (or at least to agreed upon areas) until he didn’t have to anymore. They let themselves be as close as possible. His hips swiveled of their own accord.

His unsure movements recalled his first foray into dance: His dance skills were abysmal and yet his first ballet class at NYADA filled him with wonder at the few small things he could do, what his body was capable of if he asked it to be. The tantalizing potential. A glimpse of what it could be. He remembered the hyperawareness of his muscles. Of his breath. 

His question of what Blaine’s face looked like during sex didn’t have one simple answer, like a snapshot in time easily captured and categorized as the definitive truth, where you know one answer and it’s done. It was the shifting moment by moment reactions of gasps and moans and, yes, nose scrunching. The soft look of wonder never left Blaine’s features either. Even if he hadn’t requested Blaine not pretend for him, he would have to believe it: Blaine rehearsed adoration seven times a week with him and Kurt was _used_ to those looks and yet his heart still skipped beats.

Blaine offered so much and they were only skimming the surface. One brief stretch of time until they couldn’t stand waiting anymore wasn’t enough. (Kurt was very good at waiting but that time was coming to an end.) A lifetime wasn’t enough. He wanted his hands everywhere at once. 

Blaine was overwhelming in the best possible way. As practiced as he was at waiting for what he wanted, Kurt couldn’t stretch their time anymore.

Ceremonies, in general, were brief. It was the time after that stretched onward. Blaine kissed along Kurt’s front while Kurt’s hands traced down his back. He attempted to kiss every inch of skin. Kurt murmured in content as he relaxed into his bed. 

“Don’t get too sleepy.” Blaine’s voice came out husky. He tipped Kurt’s head down to steal a kiss. “Please?” And another. “I don’t want you to leave me just yet.”

Kurt was not out of breath so much as a moment before but still coming back down. All he managed to get out was a shushing noise and bring up a finger in a loose gesture of _quiet_.

Blaine kissed at the finger held to his lips.

Kurt pet at Blaine’s curls until he settled into the crook of Kurt’s neck, half-draped over the rest of him, their legs twined together. Kurt felt so pleased, so ridiculously smug, that the intimacy didn’t end. 

“So this is why everyone else is so unproductive,” Kurt said when he trusted himself to string together that many words. “I thought I was special.” 

“You still are.” Blaine didn’t hide his besotted look. Kurt loved that. They were both hopeless. If he’s going to fall so hard it’s good to have company. Kurt let his eyelids fall shut. Let Blaine clean up and pull the sheets over their tangled bodies.

“Can you imagine we almost swore this off?” Blaine asked.

He knew they weren’t talking about sex. Not exclusively. Not love in the generic sense, either, because they hadn’t given up on emotion entirely. Desire, maybe. Feeling physically loved. Kurt hummed to acknowledge Blaine was heard.

He didn’t think he would have this. He was too assertive or not assertive enough and he stopped looking a while ago and who would want to stick around long enough to develop the level of intimacy he felt with Blaine? Who got the chance to fall in love and gain a best friend in the process?

Blaine traced patterns down his side to pull Kurt’s attention back. “Do you feel different?”

“Do you?” 

There’s no bite in the question. There might have been if someone other than Blaine was asking, if he wasn’t snuggled against someone who loved him. Who just thoroughly exhausted him and left him feeling sated. He got that the question was about virginity and if this moment was it or if it was lost long before, to Will Schuester or his sexual awakening or merely time passing until he was no longer innocent. 

Virgin was a label others applied to him. He didn’t use it to describe himself – it came with too much baggage. So when he stopped being something he never really thought he was required some mental reconfiguring. Did he feel different? Unequivocally. Because he was in love. Because Blaine made him feel amazing. Because Blaine took such care with him and his too easily bruised feelings and carefully guarded body.

“Yes,” Blaine admitted after a moment’s consideration, soft and shy. “I do.” Kurt was glad he tempered himself. Blaine sounded like he could shatter.

“Maybe it’s an ending. But it’s a beginning too. I’ve started something with you. This doesn’t feel like a goodbye to anything. Except maybe loneliness and you helped with that a while ago.” Kurt had plenty of ceremonies around goodbyes – he liked getting them right – but this ceremony wasn’t one of those. Maybe it was the loss of his virginity and maybe it wasn’t, but this moment _mattered_.

“You’re the best thing. The absolute best thing in my life.” 

Kurt smiled giddily against Blaine’s skin. He’s nowhere near first for Blaine but he matters too.

***

Kurt pulled back when he started to drift off. The sleep-like, floaty, Blaine-induced feeling had to wear off eventually and waking up freezing and miserable didn’t appeal to him. He slid out of bed to retrieve sleepwear. Kurt had an unease with nudity that wasn’t entirely centered around modesty and embarrassment, or the cold that started to seep in. Crises could come at any time: When the next one hit he was going to be wearing clothes.

“No, hey,” Blaine protested with a whine at Kurt’s movement. He pushed himself into a seated position, sheets pooling around his waist. “I’m in your bed. You can’t leave me.”

“Do you want something?” Kurt gestured to the drawer, lifting a pair of blue flannel pajamas for Blaine to see. 

The panic from a moment before dissipated. “Oh. I’d love that.” 

Kurt set the pajamas he pulled out for Blaine on the bed and started to slip into his sleep pants.

“Let me help. Please.” Blaine touched at Kurt’s hip before sliding his hands down to the waistband. 

They set about putting each other back together. Blaine held onto Kurt’s waist while Kurt pulled on a nightshirt. He reverently smoothed down the fabric. Kurt buttoned up Blaine’s top. Transformation from sexy to adorable complete. “Perfect.”

“You can’t just say things like that.”

Kurt sleepily settled back into bed. “I can do whatever I please. That includes thinking you’re perfect. You could try to change my opinion but it would take a lot of work, and for what payoff?”

Blaine pulled Kurt’s arms around him. “I can’t think of a single thing that would be worth it.”

***

As ideal as staying in Kurt’s bed forever sounded, Blaine had to return eventually, worried about lingering too long when his life was at Dalton. He whistled at Pavarotti and checked the cage’s food and water levels. Pavarotti ignored him. His room was otherwise still, just as he left it, and _lonely_. His room felt oddly unlived it given that Blaine wasn’t gone that long. He waited for being at Dalton to settle back into feeling normal again. 

“I see you’ve been off playing house.” Sebastian pushed the door the rest of the way open. He danced his fingers up the doorframe. “Or shack.”

Blaine beamed. “I love it.” He missed Kurt’s room already. Kurt’s bed. Time away felt like penance. He’d be so good if it meant he could go back to Kurt. 

Sebastian leaned, unimpressed, in the doorway. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

Blaine kept smiling. Sebastian was just jealous. 

“Hunter was looking for you.”

As much as he didn’t like how Hunter didn’t like him, Blaine had no desire to stay in the empty room.

The Warblers stood gathered around the piano, waiting patiently for Blaine and the music to return. Nick whooped when he entered. At the sound the other Warblers turned to welcome him warmly as well. 

“Are you taking requests?” Trent asked as he steered Blaine toward the piano bench. “We need some Destiny’s Child to wow my audience.” 

Hunter stayed more reserved at the back of the group with his arms crossed in front of him. “Speak of the golden goose. How’s our star?”

Blaine blinked in confusion; the complimentary names set him on edge when he knew Hunter felt no affection toward him. Hunter didn’t seem to be mocking him – not yet – but the sickly sweet tone didn’t seem genuine either. Or match his body language. Everything about him set off Blaine’s internal warnings, and had ever since Kurt raised his own suspicions about Hunter. 

“Glad you’re here for this,” Hunter continued. “Who wants to see our Blainers on his rise to fame?” Hunter waggled his phone at the crowd, video already queued up. Warblers crowded around him obediently, although a few stole curious glances at Blaine in the process. 

When Blaine followed the crowd he recognized the video from an interview session with Artie, who had entered the rehearsal space earlier that week declaring, “I need content, bitches.” Blaine he hadn’t seen the final video, but he trusted Artie to do a good job and he was pleasantly surprised at the Warblers’ interest in his pursuits outside of Dalton. As far as Blaine knew, no one had any. 

Sebastian snorted when Kurt appeared on the screen after Artie’s brief introduction to the show. “People pay to listen to that voice? That crosses the line from self-confidence into delusion.”

Blaine’s anger flared. Blaine shot a mean look at him that he knew he learned from Kurt. “Don’t be like that. There’s nothing clever about being rude, so just stop.”

His own image appeared in the video. He cringed at his flaws, minimized in his own mind for the sake of functioning but so plainly there for all to see. And yet he couldn’t look away, hoping in spite of all of the glaring flaws he made himself proud. 

“You look so nervous!” Thad cooed as the video image of Blaine waved at the camera. Blaine ignored Sebastian’s chuckle when he said something too trite in Artie’s interview.

“You took a second job?” Nick asked with disbelieving painted across his features.

“If you need more money I bet Sebastian would keep you busy,” Trent sassed. He offered a self-congratulatory smirk for his joke.

Blaine never understood how Trent could tease or condescend for letting Sebastian pay him when they all exchanged sex for money. There was no romance there – had never been romance between them except inside Blaine’s head – just a constant losing struggle to avoid being taken advantage of once he realized that’s all it was. It wasn’t funny to him. He thought Trent’s rebuff of Hunter calling him a pampered whore had been about more than a punchline.

“You’d leave us? You don’t want to be a Warbler anymore?”

“I didn’t say that.” Blaine held up his hands in protest. His people pleasing came out in full force at the first sign of conflict. Sebastian would laugh even more if Blaine said on stage he felt like he finally did something right.

“I thought the music was just for fun.”

“I don’t get it. You have everything you could need here. Just let that be enough,” David said.

“I can’t imagine putting myself out there like that for the whole world to see,” Jeff said from Nick’s side.

“A whole theatre of people sitting there judging you! And small factions of the internet, of course.”

The unrest of the other Warblers didn’t deter Hunter. “Nothing wrong with wanting to see your name in lights, right, boys? He was meant for more than the rest of us. And now the rest of the world knows it.”

Blaine shot a grumpy look at Hunter for the unhelpful endorsement. Wes watched the scene unfold without saying a word.


	11. A Fool to Believe

Kurt told him that he was terrible at pillow talk, but Blaine was pretty sure Kurt was worse. At least Blaine didn’t try to talk about work in bed and ask his boyfriend to recount his fantasies about that. Blaine was busy counting freckles he didn’t realize Kurt had in the fading spring light. Even in bed, he couldn’t compete with Kurt’s show for long. 

“I don’t really do plans for the future. I screw up thing I plan.” Blaine gave an over-exaggerated wince, aiming for cute instead of pathetic.

Kurt shivered at the nonsensical pattern Blaine traced along his shoulder, kicking his feet and tangling them in the sheets. “You probably screw up things you don’t plan too, it’s just more obvious when you know what you’re supposed to get.”

“Thanks?” 

Kurt didn’t look the least bit bothered. Not by misspeaking when he knew Blaine would understand him anyway, and not by how his usually pristine hair stuck in every direction. He leaned into a quick peck against Blaine’s lips to smooth over any ruffled feelings. “You said, when we first met, that you wanted to be a performer. Will that still be true after all this is done?”

Kurt took plans seriously; Blaine didn’t know if he was ready for that yet. He’d pick staring at Kurt, savoring the moments Kurt spent close to him with attention undivided, over thinking about the future with practicality any day. He hesitated before answering, “We’re just getting started. Who knows how long it’ll last.”

“10 weeks limited engagement: _you_ know that. Presuming they don’t move up closing night because no one comes and we’re just a waste of the theatre’s time and space.” Kurt grew quietly more and more anxious about opening night, both for what still needed to be prepared and for what he had no control over. Kurt already started working on a second script, although he kept mum about the topic and refused to let Blaine look over his shoulder. 

Blaine made sure Kurt caught the exaggerated eyeroll he gave. “Or we extend the run because your genius is both recognized and appreciated.” 

The furrow didn’t leave Kurt’s brow like Blaine hoped. “You won’t work any of those nights, right? We added you into too many parts. We can’t just replace you.” Kurt said, the quiet kind of contained panic that made Blaine wonder if Kurt’s worry lingered through everything they did, or resurfaced moments ago from unknown places and surprising them both. 

“I wouldn’t do that.” He fixed Kurt’s mussed hair, working his fingers through strayed locks. 

“What if it’s extended?” Kurt asked, cautious and hopeful simultaneously. 

“How long?”

Kurt contemplated as he knocked his feet against Blaine’s under the sheets. “Three months.”

Three more months made a long time to hypothetically clear his schedule. He tried not to have expectations for the success of Kurt’s show, given his tendency to build things up in him mind an then be disappointed when they couldn’t live up. He’d find a way to make the schedule work if given the opportunity. “I don’t have anything planned.” 

“What about after that?”

“How long after that?” He didn’t plan that far out. Kurt had lists of what he wanted that spanned his entire life, updated each time he accomplished something on it or thought of something new. Blaine had a vague notion only, caveated with _if it’s possible. If it’s not too much to ask._ The closest he came to creating his own list was helping Kurt check off all the sexy wants on his.

Kurt stretched out against Blaine by way of answering. Blaine’s heart thumped out how naturally Kurt fit next to him, Kurt’s ear over his heart listening to the beat. Kurt, here, in love with him, was already more than he thought he’d ever get.

Blaine worked up enough courage to ask, “Did you just ask what I’m doing for the rest of my life?” 

He was rewarded with a pleased smile so broad it showed teeth. 

He got caught up so easily – they both did – into sweeping promises and grand gestures. _Forever_ he could imagine like this, without the caveats. All it depended on was him, and Kurt, and a promise. 

Instead he said, “You’ll be busy enough for the both of us. No matter what happens.” Blaine knew that much would hold true. “I know you’re already working on a backup plan.”

“I’m not staging a repeat of this, though,” Kurt resolved vehemently. “I’m not tainting it. The second script isn’t to sell, anyway.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Kurt laughed and kissed him with what Blaine was starting to mentally refer to as his _shut up, you’re ridiculous_ kiss. “I took the show’s script and rewrote a few things. Just for you. Us. No one else.”

“You can’t just say that and not show me!”

Kurt retrieved a satchel from the foot of the bed with a giddy bounce at Blaine’s interest. “It’s nothing much yet,” he cautioned, although Blaine doubted that anyone who got that excited about their work could think it didn’t amount to much. “They’re just scribbles. Ideas.”

“I see.” Iterations of K+B were doodled in the margins of handwritten loose-leaf pages that spilled across the sheets as soon as Blaine opened the folder. Blaine propped himself up against the pillows to sort through the pages better.

“I couldn’t bear keeping them apart.”

Blaine skimmed the text. “You changed the ending.”

“Just for us,” Kurt repeated. “This doesn’t affect the show.”

He’d take it. Schuester still tried to egg Kurt into creating a more satisfactory romance than an unrequited one with no resolution, and Blaine smugly noted that now he had his own private version of what Schuester wanted. “You wrote me a love story,” he cooed, and bumped his nose against Kurt’s. God, he loved when Kurt grinned that wide. “Weren’t you supposed to give me a private reading ages ago?”

“I’ll need a reading partner,” Kurt replied coyly. “Once it gets to that point. It’s too rough now.”

Blaine scooted closer. Pressed a kiss to Kurt’s temple. “Let me know when. I believe we just established that I’ll clear my schedule for you.” Blaine pulled up his neglected calendar on his phone to illustrate his point. 

It was supposed to be a joke, not ironic, but the rest of the day wasn’t blank like he assumed. A sinking feeling seized his stomach as he re-checked the calendar details to prove himself wrong. Five minutes in and his big sweeping promises couldn’t be kept. 

He dropped his feet to the chilled floor paneling. His back turned to Kurt, he numbly picked up his clothes. He needed to stop sojourning in Brooklyn and get back to the city.

“It doesn’t have to be a dress rehearsal,” Kurt said pointedly as Blaine shrugged into his layers.

Blaine smoothed a hand over his hair Kurt had a knack for wrecking. “Was I wearing socks when I came?”

“No. Can’t recall what you had on when you showed up though.”

Blaine shook his head with false exasperation. Falsely directed at Kurt instead of himself, anyway. “Tired clichés. That’s what we’ve reduced you to.” 

Kurt looked pleased with himself anyway, and more so when Blaine bent down to search under the bed. “Save bemoaning my clichés for when you read the script.”

Blaine had to confess his poor planning. Cut their date short. Leave right when Kurt offered something private and important to him. He couldn’t just continue getting dressed and then walk out the door. The longer he waited, the worse he made it, because now he was withholding information from Kurt instead of being an idiot who can’t keep track of time.

“Get back in bed if your feet are cold.” Lithe limbs stretched and flexed, at ease with the space they occupied. The movement recalled their first private rehearsal where Kurt made himself at home atop the piano. He moved with the same comfort in his own skin. The sheet draped around his waist was more for teasing than modesty.

“Are you trying to tempt me back?” He couldn’t help the tone that gave away his interest. He didn’t have time to appreciate sexy developments, but he predicted this, exactly this: that Kurt’s determination to do everything well would win out over starting late. He knew Kurt would figure him out and exploit those findings. Didn’t help that smugness on his boyfriend was a turn on – he had to have done something right for Kurt to look so pleased all the time. 

He couldn’t take advantage with his looming commitment to be elsewhere. The alarm on his phone sounded. Blaine fumbled to shut his alarm off. “I’m sorry!” Blaine blurted immediately. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed as soon as he realized the purpose of the alarm and Blaine’s clothes. The pout transformed from something put on for show to something genuine. “While we’re on the topic of things we want in the future…” 

Blaine tugged his shirt over his head. “Would you like to finish that sentence?” he asked, not unkindly. Kurt had his thing about speaking words made them undeniable. Under the same reasoning Blaine didn’t talk to Kurt about working at Dalton. The closest he came was recounting after hours sing-alongs with the Warblers (or inviting Kurt to join in). 

“I know it’s not fair,” Kurt admitted, but nothing more. He bit his lip instead. Kurt seemed to understand the power he had over Blaine and kept true to his promise to not ask too much. Blaine didn’t take into account what he was willing to give. What he’d offer freely. 

“You don’t want things because they’re fair.” Or that were easy. 

“No.” 

He didn’t hate his job or his life, but he’d throw them both away if Kurt asked. Gratefully Kurt didn’t ask and Blaine kept himself from offering unprompted. So far, safety and security and keeping his life the way he’d happily spent it for years won out against his overgenerous tongue that committed before consulting his brain.

In Blaine’s ideal world, he pursued his dream career and accepted all the uncertainty that came with it with enough conviction in his abilities to know that struggling to make it would only be temporarily. It made a bigger dream than plucking out a melody for an audience of 12 in a lobby. But the caveats remained. Too much depended on what would happen with the show to have any concrete plans after. 

Kurt didn’t start the same search for layers as Blaine. He made no move from sitting upright but still tangled in the sheets.

The compulsion to make his wrong right took over. Blaine didn’t have time, but he dropped back on the edge bed with Kurt anyway. “Kurt. Hey. You know I didn’t plan this. You know that.”

“I know.” Same icy edge Blaine recognized from when Kurt didn’t want to go to rehearsal and frustrated himself for feeling that way about something he loved. At those times Kurt froze: always watching, always calculating, but shut down emotionally, like he put his feelings on ice to temper them. As much as he loved his show and that it existed, he still had days he needed to be coaxed out of fading into the shadows through promises that the cast’s distractions would continue working. Blaine didn’t want to be yet another emotionally draining thing in Kurt’s life. He spent so much time on-edge. 

Blaine’s hands fluttered uselessly, uncertain if his touch was wanted or if he was still the exception to Kurt’s _don’t touch me_ vibe even when Blaine was the one who caused it. “Do you want me to come back?”

Kurt gave a slight shake of his head as indication that he’d heard. “I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

Blaine didn’t take the obvious dismissal. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

“I’m not mad at you.” Which wasn’t a yes. Kurt sighed in frustration. He held his jaw tightly and Blaine would kiss away the tension if Kurt would let him. 

“I’ll be back in time for rehearsal tomorrow,” Blaine reaffirmed. “We’ll be there. No one’s leaving you alone with him.” If Kurt could break the recently created rule against mentioning Schuester in bed then Blaine could too. 

Kurt’s fingers worked into the back of his hair to guide them close enough to brush noses. Blaine lingered, eyes closed, breathing Kurt in, as long as he could and then Kurt let him go.

***

Wes let himself into Blaine’s apartment and greeted him with a mild, “Cute pajamas.” He set a cup of coffee Blaine wouldn’t drink at this late hour down on the heavy oak table. 

Blaine toyed with a sleeve as he eyed the coffee. They were the one type of apparel a client would never see: the soft comfort of matching flannel pajamas was purely for his own benefit. He hadn’t expected company with his bare feet and sleepwear that didn’t measure up to Wes’s suit. Wes didn’t stop by, coffee in hand, to socialize. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. He adored Wes like he tentatively adored any authority figure that seemed to care about him, but their relationship was more about liking each other when they were around than seeking the other out. Blaine’s guilty conscience started working overtime, because he knew exactly what he’d done wrong. 

“I’ll book a few more clients soon.”

“If you like. Sebastian’s taken over some of your regulars but you’re welcome to win them back. Goodness knows he isn’t everyone’s type.”

Usually if Blaine took too long between clients he started feeling pointless. Or lonely. He didn’t let time lapse like this. “I’ve been meaning to book some.”

“No, you haven’t,” Wes said with absolute, calm certainty. “You also haven’t updated your schedule once in the last 10 days. I need to know where you are.”

Blaine flushed. His schedule was entirely rehearsal and Kurt now. Most nights were spent in Kurt’s bed across the city. Kurt still struggled to name his desires and feel like he was allowed to ask and Blaine couldn’t resist Kurt’s coquettish persistence when he breathed “stay the night with me” like a prayer. Anything Kurt asked for he could have. Blaine had hoped the Warblers hadn’t noticed his absence. “I haven’t been working. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“I need to know where you are,” Wes repeated sternly. “Any time you leave I need to know why. Any time you’re here I need to know who’s with you.” Wes was always at his most severe when it came to following rules. “The council would like to speak with you. We’ll be waiting in the commons. You can update your schedule after.”

“It’s late,” Blaine protested, because it was hard enough making his room feel lived in without leaving it again, and he was in the middle of trying to be comfortable with it. Spending the night without Kurt wasn’t supposed to be so hard.

Wes edged the coffee forward on the table. “The rest of us still work nights. I’ll give you time to get dressed.”

***

Despite the late hour, the council remained impeccable in their positions at the front table. All except for one. 

“You’re not on the council,” Blaine blurted as soon as he saw Sebastian leisurely reclining in the last seat – which was entirely too nice for that sort of treatment – at the end of the council table.

“Things change when you aren’t paying attention,” Sebastian smirked. “Thad decided bookkeeping wasn’t for him.”

A protest died on Blaine’s lips. Sebastian could try to manipulate Blaine so much easier if he was given that kind of power, but abuse of power was a serious accusation to make without giving Sebastian any benefit of doubt. He needed to trust the council.

“We’re not here to scold you. But it seems like you’re making a decision here that shouldn’t be made lightly.” David looked to Wes for agreement. 

He feared this was the reason they called him down; he couldn’t think of any other when the butterflies started as he dressed and made himself presentable.

“I’ll figure out how to balance things. I’ve earned more than enough this year to merit a mini-vacation.” He resisted fidgeting. The council never made him nervous before; they were his friends. (The ones who weren’t Sebastian were his friends.) But he’d also never done anything that could displease them like this. The closest he came to a romantic relationship in his time at Dalton was letting Sebastian harass him when he was feeling low, and one third of the current council – the council that included Sebastian – was very okay with that scenario. The drama that unfolded when the Warblers took sides on who was misleading whom, while never outright blamed on him, had been horrific enough to keep Blaine in line until now and it would be on Wes and David’s minds. 

“Our concerns are not chiefly monetary but about your side project,” Wes said. Blaine’s blood ran cold. This was the confirmation of his fears. Wes pushed on. “It hasn’t escaped the council’s notice how you’ve been choosing to spend your time. Have you thought this all the way through?”

“I love Kurt,” Blaine replied instantly, like the fact it was. He wouldn’t deny that. The council couldn’t argue against love. “I don’t know how to plan for the future or what I’m going to do . . . but I’m in love.” At first all he wanted was all Kurt was willing to give, be that one night or every night. Now he wanted so much. His job and Kurt’s ambitions gave them plenty of roadblocks and were bound to create more but privately he pictured them together long after Kurt was famous and he was . . . something. A star in his own right, possibly, if he allowed himself that much hope. The picture of himself was less clear but for the first time it was starting to take shape out of the undefined, unthought-of thing it was. Being around Kurt forced him to reflect on his own desires. “We’ll think through the rest together. Kurt and I will make this work. I’ll start taking clients again.” 

The council exchanged looks. “Blaine, this isn’t about Kurt,” Wes said.

Blaine sagged in relief.

“This is about your decision to be in the spotlight.”

Blaine looked back up at Wes, but David spoke next. 

“Your side project is starting to garner attention. The show was fine when no one was going to watch it, and the online video you made was bad enough even under those circumstances, but now your face is in a magazine. We value our discretion. We don’t sell our more prominent clients out to the tabloids and they keep Dalton a carefully guarded secret. However, all it takes is one slip. Think of all the men you’ve been with and tell me you like those odds.” David cast a sideways look at Sebastian.

“Is he bribing you?” Blaine blurted. Or blackmailing. That might be Sebastian's style as well. Sebastian rarely got involved in the politics of running Dalton unless it involved something he wanted, and he wanted to replace Thad for some reason. 

David startled at Blaine's voice. Sebastian remained unflappably smug in his tilted chair.

Wes's mouth tightened. “That’s not how we conduct ourselves." He leveled a firm look at each of them.

The butterflies beat harder. Guilt bubbled up for leveling such an accusation, however founded it might be. There was always the chance that he was wrong. Shouldn’t he assume the best in people rather than the worst? But David wasn’t the type to rub past mistakes (Sebastian) in Blaine’s face, and why else would David look at him like that?

Wes cleared his throat until all eyes turned back to him. “Let's bring our attention back to the issue at hand. Standing out will always be dangerous for you, Blaine. The more fame you accumulate, the more tempting revealing your past will be. Dalton’s power extends only so far.”

Blaine thought back to the publicity for the show so far. He knew about the article David mentioned: Kurt walked on clouds for days after. While the speculative article about Schuester’s intentions in backing the show stayed tucked away on a bookshelf, the new article touting the creativity of the script and the skills of the unknown cast hung on his wall with pride. Besides that, there was the website with the videos and mini-bios and pictures, but no one had a reason to visit it. A Facebook page. Artie said something about Twitter? That didn’t amount to fame. He was Blaine Anderson in all of that, not Blaine Warbler.

“When the benefits outweigh the cost – and it’ll be sooner than you think – someone _will_ sell your story,” Wes said. “You don’t have to be a big name to make it into the tabloids if the story is scandalous enough. The questions will be invasive and they will follow wherever your public life takes you.”

“I can’t change what I’ve already done.” He hadn’t thought much about the long-term future and a life after Dalton. He entered Dalton as a reprieve from the outside world. He arrived barely legal and pretending he was much older with no education and work experience limited to a couple seasonal theme park gigs. Performing was a daydream. He hadn’t even thought about how much he still wanted it until the opportunity was right in front of him. Wanting in general was something he’d put on hold, a necessary exchange for the safety Dalton provided. Blaine wondered, fleetingly, if ambitions could be sexually transmitted.

“Are you ready to put your life on display? For anyone to be able to pick up a magazine and take a peek into your sex life? Are they paying you enough for that?”

Blaine’s stomach turned. “I don’t want to be cooped up in here forever.” He didn’t think to have an exit strategy all those years ago. 

“You’re safe here.”

“This isn’t a life!” He tried to rein himself in but emotion still bled into his voice as he looked around the room that had grown so familiar to him. “I can’t be held in limbo forever. I have to take my chance outside of Dalton. I could perform on a _stage_. I could be a real actor!” 

Wes shook his head sadly. “You’re putting Dalton in jeopardy. None of us want to be found out. Think of your friends.”

“My whole purpose in life isn’t to please everyone else.” The conviction in his voice drained halfway through his sentence. Wes could go to jail because of him. They all could. He winced at the thought of his closest friends behind bars. He couldn’t be responsible for that. He couldn’t be so selfish as to trade his freedom for all of theirs. 

With a sense of finality Wes said, “We’ve come to a decision. Since you can’t bring yourself to do what’s best for you, you’re going to do what’s best for us.”

“Tell them you’re leaving the show,” David instructed. “Rehearsal all you want but don’t set a foot on that stage anytime an audience can see.”

“Or?”

Sebastian smirked. “Or we’ll ruin you ourselves.”

Blaine stumbled back in shock. How foolish and trusting he’d been, thinking they were friends. You don’t just leave a place like Dalton, not without a cost. 

Without waiting for another word, Blaine flew up the winding stairs to his studio. The heavy door thudded behind him. Pavarotti chirped and trilled at him upon his return. Blaine sunk beside the base of the cage. 

He was no stranger to ineffectual shouting. Losing battles were the only kind he knew; it’d just been so long since he’d had one to fight. The conversation was over. He’d do what was expected of him. He always did. But what was to become of him? He couldn’t stay at Dalton forever. He didn’t want to anymore; his motivation for sleeping with anyone other than Kurt was shot. But with performing no longer an option he was suited for nothing else. 

He was too young for his career prospects to have passed him by. Not admitting aloud that he hoped Kurt’s show would launch his own career performing fulltime didn’t stop his disappointment at being denied. All the things he could be swirled around his already bursting, muddled thoughts: his name on the back of a Hollywood chair, red carpet appearances, performing at galas and fundraisers for Broadway Cares or the LGBT Community Center. He struggled to leave every time something he wanted lay outside the safety of Dalton’s walls, but he thought he had the option, He was getting better, to the point that he sometimes thought an attack years ago and 1,000 miles away didn’t have to rules his life or how he coped with the outside world.

Would Kurt still love him when he realized Blaine’s dalliances weren’t temporary? When Kurt had dreams Blaine couldn’t be a part of? Blaine could stain Kurt’s reputation as vividly as Dalton’s if the potential for gossip about Blaine profession was as real as Wes predicted. They couldn’t have much of a future if Blaine had to stay in the shadows and Kurt refused to.

“They make you feel powerless, don’t they, with their good intentions and old school moral obligations.” 

Blaine startled at the unsolicited presence in his room. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand and gulped for a steady breath of air, pushing himself away from the wall and the broad shadow Hunter was casting. Hunter stood there like it was the most natural place for him to be, invitation completely unnecessary. 

“Everybody’s too afraid to take chances. Afraid of change. But we’re not like that, are we? We pursue what we want.”

Blaine would assume this was leading somewhere sexual if Hunter wasn’t straight. Even with that fact, he still wasn’t convinced of the innocence of Hunter’s appearance. He had a habit of setting Blaine on edge. Hunter knowing the contents of a meeting he wasn’t a part of didn’t ease that feeling.

“They don’t know how to handle you. They’re trying to hold on when you’re already gone. Aren’t you?”

Hunter wasn’t wrong. Blaine fit perfectly into the coddled image Hunter held of him: used to the adoration of those in charge of his keeping who bent the rules to fit him and overcompensated him for any discomfort; he couldn’t stand being told no to something he wanted, couldn’t even comprehend being denied. Enforce rules and suddenly he wanted out. The problem was they left him nowhere to go. Without performing he had absolutely no skills. He’d thought about leaving before, but he’d actively experienced running away with nowhere to run to once already. Months of constant panic over what was to become of him when he first arrived in New York led right to Dalton’s door and he hadn’t left since. Other than for Kurt. 

His voice sounded hollow when he asked, “How? How are we pursuing what?”

“I like to think of myself as an entrepreneur. I see an opportunity and I seize it.”

Blaine resisted rolling his eyes at Hunter’s self-promoting elevator speech that wasn’t an answer. As if Blaine didn’t know him by now. Given how he treated the other Warblers like they were garbage at worst and pawns at best, taking what he wanted wouldn’t be a problem for him. 

“With a little fine tuning you could have the spotlight you crave and we would all capitalize on it. Let me manage you. The council doesn’t know how to approach this tactically. I already gave Wes his shot at this opportunity, but he doesn’t get what a fortune we could make.” 

Blaine’s unease continued to grow at how Hunter still hadn’t said how he intended to follow through on any of his promises. Either he had a flair for the dramatic or he wanted to hold out until Blaine at least partially bought in. 

“Change the order of the story and you control it. Would you rather be shamed or shameless? We take you out of Dalton, make you a much more visible whore on your own, and share your story with the world. You could be the next Kim Kardashian. Paris Hilton.”

“You mean a sex tape.” Becoming the next Tila Tequila – famous for being hot but assumed to be otherwise untalented – wasn’t one of Blaine’s ambitions, if he was interpreting how Hunter wanted to “share his story.”

“Gotta launch your career with something people actually want to see. With the right publicity, no one will care about where you _used_ to work or what crappy little play you almost did. You’ll have your pick of roles after that.”

Apparently Blaine did have unnamed expectations for the future he wanted, and they involved a clean break from selling himself. His love of reality TV occasionally lent itself to entertaining fantasies of starring in his own series, but he pictured being the kind judge on an audition show or maybe _Kurt and Blaine Take Over_ where they redecorated failing theatres.

And yet. Hunter’s proposal appealed to Blaine’s desire to make a break from Dalton without hurting anyone but himself. If his career made gossip inevitable …

“Sebastian wants the job but he’s too tall next to you – I’m not marketing niche porn for little people – and he spent half the video mugging for the camera.”

“Video?” Blaine’s mind jumped to what couldn’t possibly be true. He felt like he missed part of the conversation. Sebastian mugging in a video shouldn’t have anything to do with Blaine.

“I had to set them up just in case you’re not as good of an actor as you think you are. Pretty easy to do considering how often you’re not here. The one with Kurt is surprisingly entertaining but without him pulling focus. At least you seem less effeminate in comparison.”

_The one with Kurt_ echoed in his molasses-slow mind. Kurt knew Hunter had been up to something and Blaine hadn’t wanted to believe. 

His tongue felt too fat in his mouth to form indignant protests. Blaine ran a hand through his distressed hair. Looking around the room wouldn’t tell him what to do but he couldn’t think of a single thing that that’d sway Hunter. He couldn’t tell where the cameras were either. He had no leverage.

“That’s private.” _Which Hunter already knew._ “Wes won’t. . .” _have any ability to control him, what was a driver’s salary next to something as scalable as porn._ “How could you do that?” He hadn’t said an unkind word to Hunter since he started at Dalton.

“That was mean of me, wasn’t it? You’ll let me know what a fair charge for that is. We’ll work it into your payment.”

Hunter didn’t do it to be mean. He did it to win. No need to get Blaine to agree at all. 

“Not enough money in the world. You’re giving me the tape instead.” He didn’t bother to hide his contempt. Two seconds of consideration made far more than Hunter deserved. Kurt rewrote the ending of the show for him, just for him, apologizing for how no one else would see it but he couldn’t stand to keep their alter-egos apart. Blaine kept pages and pages of sentimental speeches tucked in a drawer in his vanity because he knew Kurt would want them to stay private. Now he had to repay that by telling Kurt this, guilty over what someone else chose to do.

Kurt had been reluctant to share anything intimate at Dalton, but relented with a, “since you ask for so little the rest of the time” and joked they should rehearse that sex scene Blaine coaxed him into writing for their nonexistent show they assumed no one would ever see. Blaine enthusiastically took him up on the offer for that long overdue private reading. Out of all the men Blaine could and did have in his bed, he wanted his boyfriend there, intimate with him in the place he called home with all its familiar, soothing surroundings. Dalton was the safest place he knew, secluded in the midst of the busiest city that never slept.

Hunter didn’t seem to register his distress as anything other than a minor inconvenience, watching with an appraising eye as Blaine hummed with a desire to act and no useful outlets for that anxious energy. Pavarotti hopped from perch to perch, back and forth. Blaine covered the cage.

“I’m giving you an opportunity. There’s nothing here for you. We do this right and you’ll be set long before you lose your looks. Kurt’ll benefit too. We all heard of what he’ll do for a lame theatre gig no one’ll see. I’m giving you a much better deal.”

He knew what kind of fame Kurt wanted. He knew how private Kurt was. The toll feeling indebted to Schuester took on him and how much he wanted that part of his life to be over with. “You’re giving me the tape,” Blaine repeated. “You’re giving the tape to me and no one else.”

Hunter scoffed. “I’m not threatening you. I’m not that clichéd. You’re going to make your own decision. And it’s going to be the one I want.” Hunter strode back across the room to see himself out. “Think about my offer. And think about your other options. Let me know when you decide.”

***

“What was that, honey?” Kurt worked hard to focus on Blaine’s words while his mind kept drowning everything else out in its excitement about having a boy in his bed (he could never tire of this, he was sure, no matter how many nights Blaine stayed over). Blaine’s mumbling obscured everything else. Sleepy mumbling was one thing, but Blaine didn’t sound at peace. “Say it again?”

“Run away with me,” Blaine begged against the skin of Kurt’s chest. 

A short laugh escaped at the suddenness of Blaine’s request. “Everything I want is here.” He skimmed a hand down Blaine’s back. For once he didn't have to ask for Blaine to be there, and Blaine taking initiative had to be a good omen. They could work on the courtesy of advanced notification instead of just showing up at the door in the dead of night. Usually Blaine had manners down. They’d seen each other at rehearsal mere hours before, and their codependency hadn’t become so extreme that a night apart should merit such extremes.

Kurt wouldn’t send him back under normal circumstances, and certainly at such a late hour given how ardently Blaine avoided traveling outside of his safe little haven at Dalton once the sun fell. The unspoken fear easily explained why Blaine hadn’t committed to coming by calling ahead. He almost broke when Kurt tried to calm his fear-facing jitters by saying, “I’m proud of you.”

“What if I’m not here?”

Kurt stiffened. Blaine’s hands tightened to hold him closer. They agreed not to lie to each other, which wasn’t the same as being upfront or asking what they wanted to know. He didn’t know where Blaine had been, assuming that Blaine would offer what he wanted to share and he hadn’t offered a thing. Asking might give answers Kurt didn’t want to hear. He waited, instead, for Blaine.

“If we leave right now, we can both start over. We could have a new life. No regrets, no looking back.”

It was too dark to make out more than a hint of Blaine’s features half-hidden against his own body. Something had seemed off about Blaine ever since he melted into Kurt’s arms as soon as he opened the door to an unexpected visit in the middle of the night. “Are you okay?”

He clutched at Kurt harder but it wasn’t possible for them to physically be any closer than they already were unless they lost their clothes again. Blaine already had Kurt’s pajamas all rumpled from attempting to mold himself to Kurt’s skin. 

“I’m fine.” Blaine said quietly.

Kurt didn’t believe him for a second.


	12. Show Must Go On

The next day, after a quick kiss to Blaine’s sleepy head and a promise to be back as soon as possible, Kurt went to an early morning audition his former agent, Sue – despite their estranged relationship – begrudgingly informed him about. The peace offering likely doubled as a way to sidetrack him from working with Schuester. It felt like cheating on his own show but practicality – or deep-set paranoia about good things happening to him and sticking – won out. He couldn’t hang all his hopes on one show like he had before Schuester came along, the one that closed the same night he met Blaine and Schuester and thought they were the same person. Brittany still intended to audition for the Rockettes now that it was spring. Santana agreed to her car dealership in a bikini ad after stipulating that no one was allowed to so much as touch her this time. He had more experience on his resume since his last audition and he wanted to know, for his own sake, if he cut it this time.

Blaine looked beautiful with the first hints of morning light filtering in to cast shadows around his features. For all his unrest the night before, he slept soundly now. Kurt couldn’t even muster a little annoyance at how many times Blaine kicked him in his sleep once he finally drifted off. Kurt could get over a little lost sleep and bruises on his shins for Blaine. He skipped on his way to the subway. 

He knew when he left the audition he wasn’t getting a call back. Something about him never fit with what the casting directors wanted, and he could see it plainly on their bored faces. Even with how long he waited for an audition to come along that Sue thought he had a shot at, he still didn’t come close to cutting it.

With a “hmph,” Kurt noted that his bed was empty upon his return, making crawling back in much less appealing. “Blaine?” Kurt called even though there was nowhere for Blaine to be within hearing distance. The audition lasted too long. Blaine must’ve left.

Kurt wandered back out to the kitchen to see if he could get away with some emotional eating instead. He unearthed a Tupperware container of cake hidden in the back. 

“That bad?”

He turned, guiltily, at Rachel’s greeting. 

“I thought an audition might make me feel better. It didn’t.” He popped the lid open and ran the tines over the cheesecake, creating grooves. “I don’t know why I bother when the answer’s always the same.”

Rachel retrieved her own fork and made a grabbing motion at his cake. “Have you given up on yourself?” 

Kurt dodged her and leaned back against the counter so she couldn’t sneak cake by surprise. “I’m trying not to.” The audition sucked. Enough to make him want to eat the rest of the cake he shouldn’t have made in the first place or crawl back in bed with a boyfriend who wasn’t even there. He could take a positive audition as a sign that someone might hire him on merit alone, even if it ended up conflicting with _Loser Like Me_ and he couldn’t accept the offer he didn’t get. 

Rachel frowned. “You gave up months ago, didn’t you? That’s why we’re doing this show with Schuester. You don’t think you can make it on your own.”

Kurt looked back down at his cake. Would Schuester have taken a chance on him if he’d kept his pants on in their first meeting? He hadn’t wanted to take the chance. When he planned to seduce Schuester into financing his show he didn’t picture such a drawn out ordeal that continually reminded him how much he hated what he was doing – what his friends and his _boyfriend_ were actively preventing him from doing. All the hiding and worrying. He couldn’t just let the glow of finally getting to do what he wanted for his career wash over him when it also caused the most stress and self-loathing in his life.

“You’ll get that _yes_ you deserve. We all know how good you are.”

Kurt rewarded her cheering attempts with a weak smile. He wished Blaine hadn’t left while Kurt was auditioning across the city. 

He decided to allow his boyfriend space until the evening’s rehearsal. And allow himself more cheesecake. He had the whole rest of the day to not squander on feeling sorry for himself. If he couldn’t have Blaine, he’d conjure his alter-ego for the afternoon. Work a few more silly, sentimental lines to into Blaine’s version of the script, the one where his affections are returned rather than ignored.

“What’s this?” Rachel asked with a gesture to the folder Kurt retrieved from his satchel and dropped to the dining table to work.

“Blaine’s version.” He slapped a hand over the cover at the same time Rachel greedily reached for it. “It’s too ridiculous to be seen.”

“Sounds promising. If it’s for Blaine, don’t you like this one better than the actual script?”

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t want to ruin a perfectly good story by weighing it down with some run-of-the-mill romance. That’s not what I want to be known for. I want to do something that hasn’t been done before.”

“Clearly, if this is your idea of wooing someone with words . . .” Rachel scolded. “I realize you’re lacking practice at this whole having a boyfriend thing, but no one wants to hear that they’re ordinary.”

“I think love stories are only interesting if you’re part of them. Blaine understands the difference between what’s silly and what is work I could put out there for the world to see. Me, in a love story, pretty much appeals to an audience of one.” A very enthusiastic or indulgent audience, who eagerly grabbed for each new page. Kurt thought he would just write a few pages, just enough to change the ending to one Blaine would like, but Blaine kept wheedling more romantic drivel out of him. At this point Kurt didn’t know who indulged who more. 

“You’d have an audience of at least two,” Rachel declared. “I like this side of you too.”

“What, am I less uptight?” Kurt returned dryly.

Rachel was too used to Kurt in his snappish moods to be put off. “Happier, sometimes. Presumably not just because of the orgasms.”

Kurt looked up from her script to give her an appraising look. “Santana is rubbing off on you.”

Rachel leaned in conspiringly. “How is it? Worth the wait?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Kurt responded with more primness than he felt. 

Rachel settled next to him, undeterred. “That’s fine, I’m not asking about the kissing.”

Kurt shrugged her off playfully. “Still private.”

“I’m your best friend!”

“I’m not sure what you think that entitles you to, but I can assure you that _details_ isn’t one of them.”

Rachel’s eyes flicked down to the table where Kurt had his hands folded protectively over the script and back. “It’s in the script, isn’t it? That’s why you won’t show me. Kurt Hummel, you wrote porn!”

She sounded so genuinely pleased at the prospect.

He renewed pressure on top of the folder so she couldn’t pry it away. Blaine’s powers of persuasion broke through Kurt’s sense of propriety and he had the dirty play-by-play to prove it. Their “rehearsal” made one of their more memorable afternoons, with Blaine deliberately flubbing lines so Kurt would make him start over, Blaine’s eyes twinkling at his own cleverness and soothing Kurt’s exasperation with unscripted kisses. Teasing Kurt to focus when he diverted from his own script. Blaine penciled in his own additions and told Kurt that he wanted to know when they next draft would be ready. Only in scriptwriting could they relive a moment over and over until they perfected it. He had an endless supply of chances to get it right.

When Kurt’s silence dragged too long Rachel bumped his shoulder again but made no move for the script. “Keep your secrets, then. As long as you’re happy.”

Kurt couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin. “Very.”

Rachel hugged him and ruffled his hair as she stood up. Kurt returned to his script, taking her at her word that she wouldn’t get in the way of his attempts to write. 

One night of unconscious shin-kicking didn’t hint at a deep-rooted issue, and neither did one night of unspoken worry – he expected Blaine to be back to his usual bubbly self by the time they met again in the evening – but if that wasn’t the case Kurt would do what he could to bring a smile to Blaine’s face. He didn’t have much to offer Blaine, but he had words. 

*** 

The last of the fabric for costumes came in. The official fitting wouldn’t happen until the next day, but Tina pleaded with Kurt to let them open the shipment early once rehearsal was over. A “quick peek” at the unfinished costumes morphed into all the women in the cast dashing and twirling to their hearts content on the stage despite Kurt’s attempt to pin the clothes first so the dresses would at least fit properly. Brittany pulled Santana into a dip and they both dissolved into giggles. Mike and Artie pulled Blaine, still in his quiet and unexplained funk from the day before, to join them.

A sense of satisfaction washed over Kurt. The finishing on the pieces he purchased left a lot to be desired and they wouldn’t fit properly without being heavily tailored, and most of the fabric was ridiculously cheap quality that wasn’t the weight or texture he wanted, but he’d forgive them anyway. It didn’t take much to make his friends happy. Later, when no one was watching, he’d do his own running and twirling in mediocre clothes that wouldn’t mean anything to him if not attached to his show. 

“Kurt, are you listening?” Schuester asked.

“I can’t meet you anywhere tonight,” Kurt told him matter-of-factly. “We’re working against a hard deadline for the costume fittings.”

His tolerance for his benefactor was wearing down. Their strained relationship – and Kurt’s resistance to being anywhere alone with him – made collaboration next to impossible. Will Schuester was always demanding something: usually Kurt’s attention when he wasn’t inclined to give it. There was too much to do even without taking placating Schuester into account, and he still wanted a few hours just to himself and his boyfriend (he still wasn’t convinced Blaine was okay, functioning again though he was after a fitful sleep). As opening night drew closer Kurt took to multitasking during the rehearsals that didn’t require his presence onstage. He straightened the seams of the vest spread under his fingers and realigned the pins.

Schuester crossed his arms. “You set the deadline yourself.”

“And I set it in stone.” Kurt returned his attention to his sewing machine. If he wasn’t careful the material would snag. He needed to focus.

“Kurt.” Schuester’s tone chastised.

“ _Will_ ,” Kurt snipped right back. He quickly corrected himself. “Mr. Schuester.” He didn’t like the silence from his benefactor, like the calm before the storm. He didn’t have to see Schuester behind him to feel his anger.

“There’s always something,” Schuester fumed. “The script demands your attention. The costumes. The interviews. The _cast_. Tonight _I_ demand your attention.”

His voice escalated as he spoke, clearly losing patience as Kurt ignored him in favor of continuing to sew. Parts of the cast turned from the chorus scene they started rehearsing on stage to see what the trouble was now. He could see Blaine stutter in his movements.

Ignoring Schuester never paid. Kurt would ruin everything if he didn’t turn and look up at Schuester as patiently as possible. He forced his expression into something more dutiful than irate.

“I expect to see you tonight. You can decide how much you really care about this show by then.” 

***

Red curtains swirled around them as Blaine pulled Kurt back further into the wings, heavy velvet blocking them from anyone lingering on the darkened stage after rehearsal. 

Kurt looked around to see if they were being followed. “We shouldn’t talk here.” Sound carried well in theatres like this; that was the point of their design. Kurt didn’t have time to go elsewhere, somewhere more private where they could actually be alone.

“Don’t sleep with Will tonight,” Blaine pleaded in a way that shocked Kurt with its urgency, his voice on the break. Blaine’s fingers worked under Kurt’s shirt collar to hold him close. “Or any night. I don’t want you to.”

Kurt stilled Blaine’s grasping hands under his own. His breath was compromised enough by rising dread without exacerbation from Blaine. “Do you think I want…?” He never regretted changing his relationship with Blaine to something more intimate than friends, but he could cope better with Schuester if he had the older version of Blaine that didn’t fret over him and instead said it would be easy for Kurt to sleep his way to fame and fortune if he put on the right face. If he thought of someone else he wanted. 

He kept his tone wry rather than unkind. “Did you change professions and forget to tell me?” He hadn’t permitted himself to be jealous, or at least not express his jealousy, when Blaine was at Dalton instead of with him. He promised Blaine he wouldn’t ask too much of him. They supposedly had an understanding about not interfering with the other’s work. 

Blaine’s voice was tinged with sadness when he mutedly replied, “Dalton’s my home.”

“Broadway’s my dream.” 

“You’re so talented. Kurt, you know this can’t be the only way to make this happen!”

Kurt pulled out of his grip. Blaine hands clutched at empty air. 

“You’re better than that. I hate that he’s put you in this position, playing to your anxieties about not being good enough, and I know you like to frame it as your choice but if you were thinking clearly you wouldn’t choose to do this to your career!”

Kurt’s voice grew colder. “I haven’t complained once about your profession. I don’t make demands of you. You knew I intended to follow through on this before we started dating. I don’t know why this even matters to you. It’s just sex.”

Blaine’s eyes filled with tears. “How can you say that? You don’t believe that.” 

“My body’s not a fucking temple, Blaine! How’s it different than what you do?” If Blaine was going to cry then Kurt couldn’t. Someone had to function, and someone had to follow through, and everything was just going to be hard for him and Blaine made it harder. “You knew this was going to happen,” Kurt repeated. "You knew."

His friends helped him put it off for so long. He knew. He knew they couldn’t keep postponing. Everything had its cost.

“Don’t. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Kurt whispered furiously in return, “Mr. Schuester holds the key to everything in this performance. Without him there’s no funding, no theatre, no names attached to it that mean anything. We go back to having nothing. We’ve come so far.” He knew when he chose Schuester producing his show over no production at all that Schuester would make demands of his own. All the support – the connections, the publicity, the funds to buy costumes and sets and lights – didn’t come freely.

Kurt couldn’t stand those dark, sad eyes fixed on him. Kurt liked Schuester’s demands even less than Blaine did. Couldn’t Blaine appreciate that? But everything had its cost. 

“I love you. You know I love you. That has to be enough.”

Blaine nodded despite how little he agreed with nearly everything Kurt just said.

***

Blaine hated the way he left things with Kurt, both of them distracted by what was to come until Blaine let Kurt slip away to get ready and then Blaine bolted to the subway and prayed Kurt took as long as Blaine anticipated. He had to be faster than Kurt.

He blamed his own inability to express his wants, even to himself, for this mess. He told himself he was fine. He told everyone else the same. Everything seemed under control until it wasn’t in a staggering way that made clear he should have both seen his own unhappiness coming and avoided having a direct hand in exacerbating it. 

He could let Sebastian continue to use the council to toy with him in safe obscurity that would give him a few months to a few years before Kurt realized Blaine was an unnecessary liability. He could let Hunter use him, lose Kurt even quicker, and gain fame in a way he didn’t want. Or he could try for something completely different and hope all the moving pieces aligned. 

That night, Schuester opened at the insistent pounding on the door that came earlier than expected. On the other side, Blaine pleadingly looked up at him. 

“I need your help.” 

He loitered outside the building for what couldn’t have been more than ten anxious minutes that seemed like forever alone in the dark, waiting to slip in behind someone else entering in hopes that Schuester wouldn’t be able to say no to his face. 

Schuester blinked at Blaine in surprise. “I’m supposed to be meeting Kurt.”

Blaine slipped in before Schuester could turn him down. “Please. I can’t wait another day. You’re the only one I could think to go to. I didn’t know what else to do.” Blaine backed into the room as he spoke and invited himself to sit down on the couch. Schuester had to entertain him now. He crossed his ankles, hands folded in his lap, and waited for Schuester’s White Night Syndrome to kick in. It didn’t take long. Schuester hurried into the kitchen and back to hand Blaine a glass of water.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you. This isn’t like me. Nothing I’ve done _for years_ is like me. I’ve came so far from what I wanted for myself. This isn’t the life I wanted to have.” A lump rose in his throat. He tugged at the collar of his constricting button-up. Schuester’s eyes followed the movement. “I didn’t want this.”

Schuester slid next to him on the couch. “You can tell me about it.” He sat closer than was strictly necessary.

Blaine gulped down the water. “I ran away when I was 16. I arrived in New York from a small town where I’d never seen anything so decadent. I had no money, no plans, and nowhere to go but I just . . . I wanted everything. I’ve been selling my body ever since. I don’t want to live this life anymore. You can help me. I want out. I _need_ to get out.”

Schuester leaned forward in intrigue the second the words _selling my body_ escaped Blaine’s lips. “That’s terrible. Blaine, you know you can always come to me. Helping young people like you is my passion.”

“The _whorehouse_ I’m in found out about the show.” Blaine spit the words vehemently. “They’re furious. I don’t know what’ll happen to me if I stay in the production. I can’t risk everything for a bit part but you, you could prepare me for something more. I don’t want this to be the end. I’ve had a taste of what my life could be like if I were free. They’re afraid of publicity, but that’s the one thing that will keep me safe. They wouldn’t dare harm me then.” He reached for Schuester’s hand but pulled back before they touched. “Make me a star.”


	13. Heroes

Rehearsal for the day went without a hitch only in the sense that Schuester didn’t utter a single word while they still struggled through the choreography they created for themselves or forgot their lines or Kurt rushed off stage to hem and embellish costumes at the first hint of a break despite knowing how unfocused it made him look. He was running out of time and he had to split his attention. Blaine, try as he might to plaster a smile on, was the worst offender, blatantly watching the others’ footwork and always a step behind despite knowing exactly what he was supposed to do. His frustration was evident anytime he wasn’t performing. And still Schuester let it slide. 

Kurt knew he was to blame for Blaine’s lackluster performance. Blaine kept his distance throughout rehearsal, sticking close to Schuester’s side since Kurt wasn’t likely to approach him there. The quick moments where he looked up and in Kurt’s direction told him Blaine’s eyes were still red, presumably due to their fight the night before when Blaine begged him not to give into Schuester’s demands. Kurt would have to address that, and how Blaine was avoiding him. And he probably had to address his missed connection with Schuester before he got to making it up to Blaine. 

After all the threatening and ultimatum issuing, Schuester hadn’t even bothered to answer when Kurt arrived. He waited as long as he could force himself before he took Schuester ignoring him as an ineffable gift, but couldn’t relax when he had no idea what Schuester would do next or what consequences would come for not following Schuester’s orders when he _had_. Kurt bolted anyway. Kurt began to suspect he lost all cell reception when Blaine didn’t answer his phone one of Kurt’s multiple calls, frustrated at being stood up by Schuester for a date he didn’t want and not feeling considerate enough to give Blaine space after their argument. 

Given the lack of fuss, Kurt almost thought he could get through rehearsal without Schuester making a public scene. Until the end. 

Schuester broke through the din of cast members getting ready to leave for the night with a loud, “Blaine, come back up here for a moment. I have an announcement.” 

Blaine jerked to attention and did what he was told. Schuester steered Blaine to the center of the stage. 

Everything would be easier once this whole thing with Schuester was over. Kurt’s one day reprieve was almost up. Dread built up in the pit of his stomach. Once rehearsal was over, he’d go to Schuester and smooth over the whole thing. Once he was done semi-listening to Schuester praise whatever dance move Blaine _had_ perfected or positive attitude he displayed or whatever. Even when he screwed up, everyone loved him. Kurt wasn’t worried for Blaine.

He could ask Blaine to wait for him this time. Blaine always agreed to whatever he asked. It wasn’t just nerves that had Kurt exhausted: Kurt grew too used to having Blaine in his bed, tossing and turning the night before without Blaine there to kick his shins, and sleeping alone one more night wouldn’t result in actual sleep. It seemed too selfish, too unkind to make Blaine wait knowing exactly where Kurt was, but Kurt held the same assumptions about what/who Blaine did when Blaine wasn’t around. He tried not to think about how Blaine afforded his gorgeous apartment at Dalton or his Brooks Brothers addiction when it stung to be confronted with the ugly reality that his doting boyfriend slept with other people for personal gain and Kurt, despite his internal protestations, was the jealous type. They both seemed to be. If they could push their jealousy aside, it’d be so nice to have Blaine to come home to. He might be able to breathe easy again.

Up on the stage, Blaine avoided Kurt’s eyes.

Schuester waited until the chatter died down. “Blaine will replace Kurt in the lead role. Effective immediately.”

Kurt froze in shock as he heard but couldn’t believe Schuester’s announcement. The theatre around him erupted into loud objections.

“You can’t. This is Kurt’s show!” Rachel argued.

Mercedes was right behind her. “It’s too close to opening night to make casting changes.”

“Do you even give a damn about the show?” Mike added. “The show’s nothing without Kurt!”

Kurt clenched his jaw and lifted his chin. Blaine sat by Schuester in rehearsal for a different purpose then. Mr. Schuester hadn’t answered his door the night before and Blaine hadn’t answered Kurt’s calls. He brushed off those incidents at the time, assuming Blaine took a client at the last minute out of spite and Mr. Schuester was playing some kind of game by making him wait. The thought of Blaine taking clients because Kurt was otherwise occupied unsettled him but he figure that was as low as it got.

Schuester held up his hands to hold off the protests. “We start rehearsals again in the morning. If you don’t want to be here then don’t show up. All of you are just as replaceable as Kurt.”

Santana and Artie stole glances at him but Kurt couldn’t focus on them. 

“We’re done with bad attitudes here,” Schuester continued, his voice booming in the large, empty space. “I won’t tolerate them anymore. You’re dismissed for the day and I don’t want to hear a word.”

Uneasy silence fell over the cast as they moodily gathered their things, glaring at Schuester but unwilling to break his command against speaking. Schuester’s temper hadn’t been directed at them before. Santana was the first to break it by snarking, “I guess I owe you a check after all” at Blaine as she passed. Rachel pulled Tina over to whisper in her ear. The cast would head over to their apartment to decide what they were going to do. They’d expect Kurt to have a solution to all his plans crashing around him. As much preparation as he put into the show, there was no backup plan in case it was stolen from him.

Kurt gathered his strength to storm up the stairs against the stream of everyone else filtering off the stage, his head held high. If there was one thing he could do well, it was wrath. He was done holding it back. He marched over to Schuester. “Explain yourself. You have no reason to replace me.”

Schuester didn’t have the decency to look concerned. “You seemed to have one too many commitments. I took one away.”

“I wrote it! It’s my play!” Kurt didn’t care how shrill his voice sounded or who overheard it. “Power trips only work over things you get to control!”

Blaine looked ready to flee. He shrank back to the side, away from both of them. 

“You signed over rights to me to produce it. Your play is in my hands now. I can do what I want with it.” Schuester draped an arm over Blaine’s shoulder and Blaine stopped edging backwards. “Blaine’s willing to be my lead. People who are willing to do the work get the parts.”

“You mean on board with your _completely inappropriate_ distraction from professional work?” A hard, icy edge worked into his tone. Everything felt like it was crumpling around him. His dream of being on Broadway was gone. Will touching Blaine, and Blaine letting him, had Kurt seeing red. For the sake of his show he put up with Schuester: for ages he resisted allowing himself to even mentally criticize his mentor without reminding himself what Schuester had done for him. Schuester’s boundary-overstepping was the price of doing business. Now he saw Schuester without the rose-colored glasses for exactly what he was: an unscrupulous tyrant who made sex a condition of working with him where young hopeful-actors were concerned. Schuester didn’t look appropriately shamed and Kurt snapped. “You’re not the hero you think you are in anyone’s success story. You’re the manipulative creep with no boundaries and the good you do for someone’s career doesn’t erase the fact that you are a _terrible person!_ ”

Blaine slipped between them, forcing Kurt to take a step back from yelling in Schuester’s face. “Kurt, wait! Don’t do anything rash,” he pleaded as low as he could. Kurt refused to meet his eyes as he took another step back. He didn’t want to look at him. Blaine reached for his hand. “It’s still your show. If I can’t perform, you’ll have to.”

Kurt batted him away. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

Blaine jerked backward, hurt evident even though Kurt hadn’t touched him either. He regained enough composure a moment later to whisper, “Don’t say anything you’ll regret. Keep your mouth shut and stay away from the show for a while. It’ll be okay.”

Kurt shook. “I can’t believe you. You don’t mean this.” He knew Blaine, or thought he did. Blaine supposedly was in love with him, but he took the one thing Kurt wanted most in the world. Being furious with Schuester was infinitely easier than sorting out the mess Blaine made of his heart. “You stole my part,” he intoned aloud and the gravity hit him. Blaine had to want the role for Schuester to give it; Schuester didn’t do favors for free. Blaine asked for this to happen. When? Before he asked Kurt not to sleep with Schuester so Schuester would be all the more willing to strike a different, more rewarding deal?

Kurt felt the tears coming. Blaine had the sense to look upset but that didn’t pacify Kurt like he thought it might. Schuester watched with open amusement. 

Blaine cast a look in Schuester’s direction before intoning, louder, “You had something I wanted and it was easy enough for me to take away. I asked to be in your show, didn’t I? I told you this was a dream of mine. You can’t fault me for doing what anyone in my position would do.”

“You stole my part, you _whore_.” 

Kurt’s shaking hand covered his mouth. Of all the vicious things he meant to say to Blaine, that wasn’t one of them.

“I need to go.”

Blaine folded his arms in on himself. “Before you say something you’ll regret?”

***

Rachel shoved another tissue in his face.

“We’re not star-crossed lovers.” Kurt wiped his eyes. In his reflection, they looked bloodshot. He needed a way to conceal that. Or to stop crying. Stopping the tears was really the optimal course of action. “He made a choice. I thought I mattered more to him than a chance at stardom.”

“Did he think the same?” Rachel asked. Kurt ignored her knowing reflection. Her idea of helping was following him into the bathroom, with no regard for his privacy, as he fled past the rest of their friends to try and make himself presentable again. And occasionally she handed him a tissue.

He spent so long thinking the show was the only thing that mattered. Picking the show over Blaine’s pleading to stay away from Schuester was a given. Blaine had no right to expect Kurt to change his plans, whether for love or Blaine’s own self-serving purposes. He wished Blaine’s demands to ignore Schuester were for love. Kurt bought into love so willingly. He’d sworn this feeling off for a reason. Everything inside of him ached. 

He knew Blaine was a risk. He put his career on the line by conducting a secret relationship under his jealous producer’s nose. He knew that everything could come crashing down around him by not taking care and not letting his newfound feelings for Blaine interfere with his commitment to making the show happen. He didn’t expect Blaine to be the one to send the pieces flying. A fitful night’s sleep where Blaine bruised his shins wasn’t supposed to have any significance and now it’d be the last thing they’d share.

He knew something was wrong when Blaine asked him to run away. He didn’t understand Blaine’s motivation. He could’ve stolen Kurt’s part without getting close to him; once Blaine was in the show, he was set. What did making Kurt believe they were in love benefit him? What would running away right before the start, like he suggested, do to get him the role?

“It’s perfectly understandable if your eyes are a little red when you come out. We’re you’re friends and we just want to support you.” She tried to hand him a fresh tissue.

“Not yet.” Kurt waved her off with his still partially dry one. 

Whatever he did once he faced the rest of the world wouldn’t get him what he wanted. He couldn’t make Schuester give the role back any more than he could make Blaine be in love with him.

“Everyone will pretend not to notice if you’re suddenly wearing sunglasses indoors. Do you want me to get your sunglasses?” 

“No.”

“The rest of us will quit. You’re more important to us than getting out on that stage.”

Kurt would have laughed if his chest didn’t hurt so much. He knew how hard that was for Rachel to say. 

“We’ve got your back,” Brittany called in agreement from the hallway.

Kurt startled at the sound. He jarred the door, tissue in hand, to see not only Brittany beaming at him but his entire cast (his entire cast minus _Blaine_ ) crowding in the threshold listening in. Of course. Meddling but well-meaning. He could count on consistency in his friends’ overstepping.

Mercedes smiled at his shock. “It wouldn’t feel right making decisions without you. And goodness knows we can’t all fit in there. We’re ready whenever you want us.”

“No boundaries,” Kurt murmured. He grabbed another tissue from Rachel. Louder, he added, “I’m not letting strangers have my show. You put too much work into it already.”

“No way we could pick a part in a show over you,” Tina scoffed. “Unlike _some_ people.”

“Just call him down to the theatre and tell him it’s over,” Santana said. “We all knew this might happen when we signed on. We’ll get over it.”

As touching as the sentiment was, Kurt held firm. “I’m not making a selfless request when I say I want you to continue with the show. If you quit, then he has everything and we have nothing.”

“Not the songs,” Brittany interrupted. “We all did those together. You can’t give away something that’s not yours.”

“Brittany has a point. We can fight for the songs.” Artie flipped through the bound pages of the script on his lap. “Maybe salvage some other pieces.”

“It’s hardly an opera. We need an actual script,” Mercedes argued. 

“But at least something’s still ours. The script doesn’t function without the songs either.” Tina looked around for confirmation and got a few nods. “He can’t use it for anything if we tell him the songs are ours.”

“We’ll figure something out. We’re not giving up yet,” Mike said.

“Then neither am I.” Kurt shook the canister of hairspray. His look needed to hold.

***

On the way to Dalton Blaine managed to sneak a text to Hunter: _Make sure your cameras are working._ Confirmation came less than a minute later.

***

“I didn’t expect you to offer me Kurt’s role,” Blaine protested quietly when Schuester let himself into Blaine’s Dalton studio. He raised his chin from his knees. He couldn’t bring himself to move any more than that ever since he made it home and went straight to the comfort of his bed and hugged his knees to his chest. He should stop pouting and get on with seducing Schuester. He looked miserable, and miserable wasn’t what Schuester signed up for. Blackmail wasn’t what Schuester signed up for either, but the seduction needed to go successfully for the blackmail to exist.

“You asked me to make you a star,” Schuester reminded him.

“Not at Kurt’s expense. I thought you meant something of my own.” Why couldn’t he ever think things through? Consequences didn’t cross his mind. Not getting his way didn’t either. He didn’t suspect Schuester would change the rules on him. Count on Schuester to be spiteful in his offer to help.

The previous night, he’d hoped Will would choose him over Kurt. Blaine’s heart hammered at the sound of the buzzer, knowing Kurt must be outside waiting to be let in. Schuester could easily kick Blaine out in favor of finally having Kurt. Or Schuester could play dumb and let Kurt up the stairs to alert him of Blaine’s betrayal right then. Blaine hoped that someone fallen from grace, in need of redemption, could be more tempting than Kurt and his innocence.

Schuester’s choice to ignore Kurt felt like such a victory. At the time. Blaine got caught up pretending he was a secret agent on a covert mission to seduce the enemy and play-acting took the inevitable consequences out of his focus. He didn’t let himself think on how Kurt would feel and focused instead on his own goals: if he couldn’t escape being That Whore You Get to Feel Better Than as soon as people found out, he was going to be That _Badass_ Whore Who Ruined a Terrible Person’s Career. The one single suggestion of Hunter’s whole terrible sex-tape-to reality-TV pitch that Blaine liked was putting things on his own terms. He wouldn’t have to be a career liability for Kurt once his “shameful” secret life as a prostitute – that he didn’t actually feel bad about without others making him feel that way – was out in the open and redeemed through causing Schuester’s downfall. Kurt would forgive him eventually. And Blaine would sell his story to star in his own made-for-TV movie . . . 

“He was getting cocky.”

Blaine literally bit his tongue to keep defensive words from tumbling out. Schuester could say what he wanted and Blaine just needed to nod along until he had the footage. Hunter wouldn’t recognize Schuester, ideally wouldn’t suspect a thing about Blaine’s sudden reversal on the sex-tape proposal, but anyone who worked with Schuester professionally wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye to Schuester offering a role in exchange for sex. Using Schuester wasn’t going as planned with how Schuester decided to kick Kurt out of his own show but if Blaine didn’t keep it in motion he’d lose everything. He still had a chance to try and make things right. All he needed was a confession on camera. 

He couldn’t work up the courage to move. He sat, hands around his knees, pouting. Pining for Kurt already. He told himself the sooner he got this over with the sooner he could tell Kurt that the role was his again, strings no longer attached, and start earning his forgiveness. 

“Forget about him. If this production succeeds you will no longer be a prostitute but an actor. A real, honest to God actor. You’ll matter. No longer the social pariah. People will want to be you rather than pity you. What’s Kurt have against all that adoration? This is the best offer you’re ever going to get.”

“An appeal to selfishness would work far better on Kurt.” The sullenness in his tone was 100% real. How could Kurt pick a chance at stardom over him? Kurt would forgive him eventually for _pretending_ to do the same. When Blaine kept Schuester too occupied saving his career to even think of touching Kurt. And then Kurt would apologize for calling Blaine what he was. As soon as he gave Kurt’s role back to him, Kurt would realize how wrong he was. 

“There, see? He’s not even that good of a friend to you. It’s all for the best.”

Blaine dropped his chin back to his knees. He heard those words too often. Of course, Kurt always thought that what he wanted was best. Then there was the Warblers’ council, and Hunter making decisions without his consent because he deemed it the right choice to make, and now Schuester. Blaine ran away when he heard his parents say it too much and he couldn’t believe them anymore. 

He desperately wanted to run now. 

“Or don’t do the show,” Schuester shrugged, eying Blaine skeptically for still not moving. “It pans out for me either way. With how jealous we’re making Kurt? He’ll make you work to keep that role in under a week.”

Schuester gave him to perfect transition and he couldn’t use it. He’d have to get Hunter to cut that. He needed Schuester’s confirmation that Blaine’s actions were in exchange for a role, but any mention of Kurt couldn’t make it to the final video Hunter would release. “I don’t want to hear about Kurt anymore.”

Schuester paid Blaine’s request no mind. “I’ve never worked with anyone so ungrateful. He started off so promisingly and then forgot about how I’ve done everything for him, I made his life what it is. All he does it take.”

Blaine pushed backwards on the bed, away from the edge and Schuester, with a huff. “All of this role-switching was for you to get Kurt to give you what you want; this isn’t about helping me at all. Or anyone else. You _used_ me,” Blaine snipped more fiercely than he intended. If Dalton really wanted him dead like Blaine so melodramatically implied the night before, Schuester would be the last person he would trust. Schuester wasn’t about to leave Kurt alone just because Blaine came into the picture and it made him furious to realize it. 

Schuester’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Blaine realized his rash mistake. His stupid mouth ran away with him. He already seemed overinvested in Kurt, and arguing with Schuester over him would hurt them both.

“Is that a new feeling for you? You’re awfully conniving yourself, _lover_. You came to me demanding favors. You know those don’t come free. Or without stipulations. I’m giving you to opportunity of a lifetime; you don’t get to put conditions on it.”

Blaine immediately schooled his features into something less confrontational and more wide-eyed-and-in-distress. The sudden switch in intensity had Blaine reeling, several steps behind and hurrying to catch up. “Please, Mr. Schue.” He wrung his hands in his lap. 

“That’s better.”

Blaine’s body thrummed with nervousness at the change in mood. He didn’t handle confrontation well and Schuester’s anger was palpable. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I need your help.”

Schuester ignored him. “The whole cast acts like I’ve done nothing for them. None of you would be here without me! I made this happen for you! You wouldn’t even know you had dreams without me. Just like everyone else I’ve helped.”

Blaine waited quietly, anxiously, for the rant to pass. He tried to look sympathetic. 

“They forget what I’ve given them. They all forget as soon as they have what they want. I thought Kurt would be different. He needed me the most of any of them. Who else would take a chance on him? They should love me. The whole cast should love me.”’

Kurt’s initial mix-up between them had Blaine insulted to his core that he swore was nothing like Schuester’s. Seeing himself in Schuester when he spent so much time thinking they were opposites terrified him: asking nicely vs. shouting, selling himself to the rich and powerful vs. demanding a price from people who felt like they had no other options, showering Kurt with affection vs. demanding it from him. But their motivation proved to be the same: an all-consuming need to be loved. Blaine understood too well the overwhelming desire, going out of his way to make sure he was thought well of, driving himself crazy when he couldn’t force someone to like him. Blaine never realized its toxicity until he saw it in Schuester.

The strong desire to run away returned. He wanted out. He wanted to never, ever see himself in Schuester again. He promised himself that whatever happened once Hunter released the video, he’d try not to obsess over how he couldn’t make himself likable to everyone. He knew he got like this: he knew he took things too far when he wanted to be loved. This would be the last time he’d do this.

Blaine ran a shaky hand over his hair. All he needed was a confession. 30 seconds about something other than Kurt. Some acknowledgement of Schuester’s expectations. He couldn’t back down. It’d be over soon. “You know I need your help. I’m so scared of what’s going to happen to me if I don’t get out of here. I need to leave Dalton. I can’t stay here any longer.” 

Schuester waved him off. “Once Kurt is willing to put effort into his show again, he can have the lead back. I’m not focusing on anything new until this show is done.”

“How long has Kurt been stringing you along? He’s never going to sleep with you,” Blaine reminded to try and get Schuester to _move on_. He needed to edit like hell to use any of what Schuester said so far, but too much editing and he wouldn’t be believable. Detangling himself from Kurt, even in Schuester’s thought process, didn’t come easily. “I’d say write your investment off as a sunk cost but you already got a great show out of it, and now you have me. What more do you need?”

“His gratitude,” Schuester insisted stubbornly.

“You’d have that if you weren’t always trying to force him into something!”

“And you would never. You’d never try . . .” Realization flickered in Schuester ’s eyes. He slammed the palm of his hand harshly against Blaine’s vanity. The crashing sound echoed loudly through the otherwise silent room as bottles shattered and shards of glass scattered everywhere. 

Blaine couldn’t help flinching. 

***

Dalton looked as timeless as ever as Kurt approached. The doors to enter felt even heavier. No one anticipated his arrival and opened them for him this time. He didn’t see a single Warbler until he entered the common room.

“Kurt again? Why are you _always here._ ” Sebastian snarked from his perch on the Warbler’s council table.

Wes snapped his fingers in Sebastian’s direction without turning to look at him. “Get out of here, Smythe. You know better than to sass –”

“People who’ve never paid for a damn thing?”

Kurt held his head high. He couldn’t think of solutions, so at the very least he wanted answers. “Is Blaine here?”

“I never know where he is,” Wes groused. “If he’s not right in front of me I assume he’s with you.”

“Has Schuester been coming to Dalton the whole time? I need to know.”

Wes arched an eyebrow. “No, he’s never come to Dalton,” Wes promised. “I doubt he’s inclined to either. From what I understand of him, he routinely sleeps with his protégés so he can attribute all of their successes to himself. We can fulfill a lot of interests here but it’s hard to make roleplay as satisfying as the reality and the reality is so, so easy for him to obtain.” Wes offered him a knowing smile. “Furthermore, you’re responsible for your own actions. Who Schuester does or doesn’t sleep with is a moot point if you’re not willing to sleep with him yourself.”

“Tell that to Blaine.”

Kurt spun on his heel and stormed out of Dalton for the last time. Sebastian and Wes exchanged a look before bolting up the stairs.

***

“You and Kurt have been playing me from the start! Right from the day I met you!” 

Blaine’s heart raced the moment he heard the glasses from his vanity shatter. He kept his wide eyes off the wreckage and on the unpredictable producer he regretted letting into his home that already hadn’t felt that safe lately. Blaine assumed Schuester forgot about their initial meeting. He’d forgotten about it as well. And forgotten how easily Schuester had bodily thrown him from Kurt’s dressing room. 

Blaine unfolded his hugged knees to stand. Schuester’s iron grasp high on his arms halted him and kept him off balance, half-bent over the bed.

“I’m through with games. I don’t want to deal with your negotiating. You and Kurt, all you do is try to wheedle something out of me. I’m in charge of this show!” 

“Will, let go of me.” Blaine held his hands up in appeasement. He struggled to keep his voice level and his body still despite the straining position Schuester had him in where he couldn’t get his feet under his weight. His calves hit against the bed frame and skidded into Schuester. “I can explain.”

His heart hammered louder and louder the longer Schuester refused to loosen his grip. Could Schuester feel it? The sound was deafening in Blaine’s ears. 

***

Once again there was no answer at Schuester’s apartment building. Kurt buzzed incessantly. If they were both there, at least they couldn’t enjoy themselves with the alarms going off.

***

“Kurt knows nothing of this! It’s always been me.” Once again, Blaine didn’t think things through and got himself into trouble for it, but only one person needed to take the fall if Blaine’s blackmail scheme fell all the way through and Schuester stayed in control of the show. “I set him up the night you first met. I knew you couldn’t resist helping him and he was too shy to approach you. I’d do anything to get out of Dalton. I need your help and I didn’t think you’d take a chance on someone like me. He didn’t know. He still doesn’t.”

“What lie won’t you tell?” Schuester snapped. Mere inches from Blaine’s face. Blaine could feel the pressure from Schuester’s anger between them, hot in the air. Blaine bent further backwards and then regretted it. His feet skidded forward and nearly sent him sprawling. “All this talk about Kurt. All you care about is Kurt! Everything’s been about him. We’re on my terms now.”

Blaine kept his hands where they were – unclenching, undefensive, unlikely to incite further anger – as Schuester shouted in his face.

“Every last one of you has been a liar. All I ask for is gratitude and instead you use my good will and scheme behind my back!”

He learned how to box for a reason. He didn’t want to feel like this again. Like he didn’t know what to do. He was supposed to know how to react, not be trapped in his own indecision. He automatically stepped in front of Kurt at the sound of a car backfiring last week, but he couldn’t talk himself into edging away from danger for his own sake. Blaine knew he could get away briefly if he tried, but then what? Shoving Schuester away was bound to escalate the situation. Some traitorous part of him protested that hitting Schuester to escape wasn’t _nice_ and he shouldn’t just assume the worst from people even when Schuester’s grip stung and kept Blaine from getting to solid ground. The fingers digging into his arm weren’t that big of a deal. The pounding in his chest was an overreaction brought on by a bad, completely dissimilar experience years ago. It would be okay. Schuester’s anger would pass as long as Blaine didn’t provoke him further. 

“Can’t we go back to talking about our feelings?” Blaine panted.

With a snarl Schuester flung him backwards. The springs under Blaine bounced and he scrambled for purchase. He knew from boxing that once you were down it was so much harder to get back up. With Schuester’s weight on him it would be next to impossible. He kicked himself over the side. He landed hard.

Pavarotti screeched. Blaine’s heart pounded too loudly too hear anything else, even though he knew Schuester was bellowing at him for his ingratitude. Blaine tried, later, to recall if he heard the door burst open. Nothing registered but the slippery glass under his hands and the frame he couldn’t quite reach to pull himself away. Not until Schuester crumpled to the ground as well. 

Wes’s face looked positively feral. “Update your goddamned schedule.”

Sebastian and Hunter hauled Schuester’s unconscious body away. Blaine collapsed, closed his eyes, and waited for his heart to return to normal.


	14. Finale

Blaine clung hard, his words gasped into Wes’s neck when Wes tried to help him up off the floor. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” Ironic to cling to someone and tell them you want to get away, but Blaine needed to hold onto something. Being a fire hazard didn’t matter. Dirt and glass on his clothes didn’t matter. The hopeless look Wes gave him mattered some because he didn’t want any of the Warblers to think poorly of him, but he chose to ignore it and gripped harder. 

The words came without a plan behind them. He didn’t think; exhaustion and stress forced them out. His supposedly brilliant plan to solve all his problems at once failed so spectacularly that it only exacerbated the issues. He still had a job he couldn’t convince himself he wanted anymore and that wouldn’t allow him to pursue another. Hunter had no reason to surrender the tape he invaded Blaine’s privacy to get. Kurt would never forgive him for unwittingly allowing the tape, or for stealing the leading role in the show Kurt wrote. Schuester wouldn’t forgive Kurt easily if Kurt wanted to earn it back. 

Wes patted at Blaine, arms stiff, completely out of his element when it came to being held. “We’ll take care of it.” He snapped his fingers at Sebastian and Hunter and then pointed to Schuester’s crumpled form. “Get rid of that, will you?”

Wes steered him to the table, and Blaine didn’t consciously move but ended up where Wes wanted him anyway. His hands and forearms throbbed where the glass broken the skin. He looked numbly down at the scrapes and cuts as if they weren’t his. He thought to himself that they didn’t even look that bad. Not enough to reveal how hurt he felt. 

After Will Schuester was removed and hydrogen peroxide tracked down to disinfect after his ill landing, Blaine resigned himself to the peculiar fate of being fussed over by three men with no previous sign of caregiving instincts. He extended him arm at Wes’s command. 

Sebastian withheld the bottle and the cotton swabs. “We should take pictures first.” 

“Photographed evidence,” Hunter nodded. “Smart. You’ll get better detail that way.”

“Dalton is _private._ ” Wes beckoned with his free hand for Sebastian to hand the items over.

To avoid looking any longer at the mess he made of himself, Blaine watched Hunter cover the trilling bird in the corner. Pavarotti fell silent.

Sebastian held firm. “Blackmail requires evidence.”

A cold smirk spread on Hunter’s lips. “We’ll make him bleed. Sounds like this guy has money to spare.”

“Always about getting Blaine on camera with you two,” Wes sniffed. “Costume paint provides the same amount of evidence as this.” He gestured at Blaine carefully curled in on himself to take up as little space as possible and still avoid smearing. Blaine didn’t think he’d wear this outfit ever again but he could sell it if he kept blood off of it. “Take a picture of _Will Schuester_ before Trent tosses him out if you want to be effective about the blackmail you’re not permitted to attempt.”

Sebastian moved out of the way when Wes reached for the items in his hands. “What are we supposed to do then?”

If he sat perfectly still, they might never think to ask him. 

“I have it all on camera,” Hunter offered.

“Destroy it,” Wes said flatly. “It’s like you’re deliberately attempting to ruin my business. Destroy any video you’ve ever taken within these walls.”

Wes directed his attention back to Blaine and tugged Blaine’s arm forward again. “You shouldn’t have done this. I know you’re upset right now so I don’t want to scold you too harshly, but you should know better. I’ll let you fill in the rest of the lecture yourself.” 

Sebastian handed a hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton ball over to Wes.

“You don’t matter less than Kurt.”

Blaine hissed at the sting.

“It’s for your own good,” Wes lectured as he held Blaine firm. 

“All this for Kurt?” Sebastian scoffed. “Hope he appreciates it.”

Blaine shrugged, his eyes on the floor. He only succeeded in making things worse for both of them and Kurt didn’t want to speak to him. When Schuester regained consciousness, he was going to be furious. He still wanted Kurt to “earn” the lead role and now he knew that they had set him up from the beginning and that Kurt’s feelings had never been genuine.

“Have you ever considered you’re not very good for your job?” Sebastian asked conversationally when Blaine didn’t respond. 

Blaine ignored Sebastian and turned to protest to Wes, “Sebastian may see more clients but I’m the highest paid Warbler here!” 

He wasn’t going to let them re-write history just because he’d fallen out of favor. Or just caused _a lot_ of trouble that could lead to blackmail and unwanted publicity and everything else they’d warned him against. 

Rather than take offense Sebastian cracked up. “Yes, yes, men desperately want to sleep with you, well done.”

Wes held up a finger to silence Sebastian. “Now isn’t the time for this.”

The scolding didn’t deter Sebastian. “There’s more to your job than that. Like _having limits_. Plenty of people can balance sex work with personal relationships, but those people aren’t you. I’m not even sure you can balance a personal relationship with _being_ you. Do you even know how to say no?”

Blaine shook his head out of disagreement with the question, not meaning to signal that he didn’t know how to say no like Sebastian implied. What did a single word do for him? He was still obligated to Dalton. Just like he was tangled in Hunter’s scheme, somehow in Hunter’s debt despite Hunter taking advantage of him. He never uttered the word at Schuester: he hadn’t wanted to know that Schuester would disregard it. 

“That’s what contracts are for,” Blaine mumbled. Contracts set boundaries for him went it felt too ungiving for him to do so. He told Kurt once that contracts kept him from being taken advantage of. Except that terrible desire to be liked made him willing for even what he wasn’t obligated to. And he was even more of an over-eager disaster with nothing binding him to someone like Kurt other than a temporary agreement to try and make a relationship work. He’d do _anything._ Blaine understood fully why Wes wouldn’t want him anywhere near a viewing public and it wasn’t a vindictive desire to stifle Blaine’s creativity. Performing made a dangerous career choice for the eager-to-please. Possibly even more so than his current occupation. 

Sebastian arched an eyebrow. “Your job’s illegal. How binding do you think a contract is? Leave whenever the hell you want.”

“Without Dalton, Blaine will be homeless again,” Wes reminded them. He glanced just long enough at Blaine to add, “I’m saying this because I care. You know taking you in to Dalton was the best thing that could’ve happened to you.”

“You couldn’t possibly want to give up your career to play doting fan in The Kurt Hummel Show,” Hunter said. “You’re too talented to let someone else have all the glory.”

“We broke up.” Possibly. Probably. No one had to say those exact words aloud for it to be true. Forgiveness hinged upon success and all Blaine did was make things worse. Schuester might give Kurt his leading role back, but it wouldn’t be for free. 

“Well then.” Hunter looked intrigued at the news. “My offer still stands. You won’t want any attachments in your new life. Time to start fresh completely.”

“It’s rude to plot against someone who’s sitting in the same room,” Wes snipped at Hunter. “I know about your tawdry offer, you’ll remember.”

“Then you’ll remember that it’s the perfect solution.” 

“You do not have permission to turn Blaine into a low-rent reality show. I forbade it then and I won’t change my stance now. Blaine has no reason to leave Dalton. We have measures to make sure something like this doesn’t happen and if he followed the rules . . .”

Blaine’s eyes drifted to the window even though the darkness outside prevented him from seeing through it. The Warblers could carry on fighting over him, without his input, whether he was there or not. All he had to do to stop listening was leave.

As soon as they left him to recuperate on his own Blaine gave into what he longed to do for days now and ran away. 

***

Kurt came home to chaos. His sewing machine uncovered, spools scattered around the base. An enormous packet of safety pins half-emptied. Brittany fussed with Tina’s hair while Tina applied Mike’s stage makeup. Mercedes, Rachel, and Santana warmed their voices at competing volumes. Pins held together dresses where Kurt had ripped out the seams to fit the intended bodies and attached details he neglected like trim and buttons. Artie went around telling everyone what they were doing wrong.

“What on earth, Tina Cohen-Chang,” Kurt called as he slide the apartment door shut behind him. “Are you putting on a show for ghosts?”

As usual, his friends weren’t fazed by raised voices, and dramatic entrances were even more commonplace than dramatic exits. 

“We’re saying goodbye,” Tina explained, breaking her hair and makeup prep chain to greet Kurt. 

“That implies _quitting._ ”

Rachel stopped her vocal runs long enough to pipe up, “Quitting can feel very satisfying!”

Kurt scowled at her and she shut her mouth. “Not to me.”

“We talked some more while you were gone,” Mercedes began, each word chosen carefully. “About the show.”

Rarely did conversations that started that way go well. The cast’s mix of nervous and defiant faces didn’t offer a lot of promise either. Like he walked into an intervention. “And?”

“And we’re done working with Will Schuester,” she concluded.

“We don’t want to force your hand,” Tina said to placate him. “It should be your decision. But we have some hesitations too. Mostly about him.” Tina looked to Mercedes for confirmation.

“We’re not hesitant; we’re _done_ ,” Artie argued.

“We agreed we’d frame it nicely!” Tina shot back.

Santana raised her hands to hold off the others from speaking. “Kurt, you ran off to fix this mess without saying how. We’re not idiots. We know where you were. If you _wanted_ to sleep with Schuester we’d tell you that you can do better and leave it at that, but we’ve spent months keeping that jackal in human form away from you. We’re not going to stand around and make it easier for him to manipulate you.”

The urge to defend himself rose hotly along with his blush. He could protest that he left to find Blaine, but that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted to find Blaine but he didn’t know what he would’ve done if he found Schuester instead. He tried the entire subway ride to convince himself to plead his case with Schuester, but he couldn’t. 

“Just saying what we should’ve said months ago,” Santana added when Kurt didn’t respond.

Without them he had no cast. He counted on them to be around when he figured out how to get his part back. But he couldn’t force them to stay in the show any more than he could force Blaine to give back the role he took out of some inexplicable revenge for Kurt choosing the show over him. How many people would he choose his show over? One failed relationship was more than enough of a price. Kurt arched a haughty eyebrow at their squabbles to hide the depths of his frustration with the options he had left and finally spoke. “You needed costumes to say all that?”

“When we end things we do it right. We don’t need an audience. We never have before.” Tina retrieved his costume and held it out to him. “Get ready. We’re having opening and closing night tonight.”

“And recording the proof!” Brittany waved her camera in the air.

His initial reaction was to resist participating himself. Admitting an end meant admitting defeat. That he was out of ideas. That he had absolutely no backups plans. That all his work for months (years, really) wouldn’t do a thing for his career. He was too furious to imagine striking a deal with Schuester, particularly one that included a brand new cast to replace his friends quitting. Calling his former agent, Sue, for her colorful advice meant admitting she was right to advise him away, but he could get over his pride if he thought doing so would lead anywhere. While very commanding, Sue had no control over what another member of the industry did. Who else would believe him? Nothing about him made him more trustworthy than Sunshine Corazon when she made similar unsubstantiated claims against her mentor. He could focus if only he could stop suffocating in his heartbreak for a second. How is he supposed to get ready to end the one thing he’s loved most in years with the second already gone?

Kurt accepted the costume from Tina. Sometimes coping required a certain amount of playing dress up.

***

Blaine didn’t turn back when the wind hit him as soon as he stepped outside on his own. Running away felt so good at first. Like he finally control. Things didn’t just happen to him. He chose to leave and he’d choose what to do with his life after he was gone. 

Before leaving he bought a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles for the next morning. Los Angeles held some promise: California had plenty of theme parks, and entertaining at theme parks was really his only other viable skill. He could track down his brother, maybe. He kept tabs on him still, had a Google Alert set for “Cooper Anderson” that let him see what his brother was up to without disrupting his life. Blaine had a decent idea of where to find him. After disappearing years ago, it might be nice to let himself be found. Presuming Cooper liked the reality more than the memory: too much time passed for him to fit the lost, runaway child in Cooper’s mind.

He’d seen Kurt break into the theatre once before, and he imitated the process with eventual success. The lock didn’t give easily. His sweaty hands skidded where they tried to grip the handle and smeared across the glass. In the absence of anywhere to go, he had his piano and his stage for a little while longer. He coaxed his unwieldy load – two oversized bags, a satchel, and a birdcage – to lean against the piano. Blaine’s arms tired from dragging nearly his own weight in luggage and balancing the birdcage on top of one of the bags to keep it from teetering. Pavarotti peeped as Blaine moved him to a more stable position on top of the piano.

His excitement lasted shorter than he thought and the sinking feeling returned as he lingered at the piano. Goodbyes didn't come easily when he bothered to give them. He thought he might just leave a note – a cowardly, non-confrontational way to apologize and explain – and count on someone in the cast delivering it to Kurt. He didn’t know where to begin. His skill set didn’t include writing; he had no clue how to frame his goodbye apology to seem sincere without spashing his heart across page after page of regrets. Knowing what to say wasn’t his strength. Music he understood better.

For a moment he rested his forehead against the cool frame of the piano. At the start of his experience with the show, when he first asked Kurt to find a spot for him, he didn’t expect to become so invested. He had the itch to perform but went years without doing anything about it. His best memories – his best memories that weren’t exclusively about Kurt – involved afternoons playing the piano for the Warblers. 

He found an abandoned copy of the sheet music he wanted. Rachel wrote it to be a love song and Kurt repurposed it to be about a different kind of longing and an end to pretense. He said the original version was too clichéd and not to tell Rachel that, but Blaine loved it from the start. He knew a thing or two about pretending. He strove for perfection, had ever since he was a child and noticed that attention it could bring him, being the best at performances. The only way to get close to perfection for him was acting it out and pretending to be a better version of himself. One who didn’t screw things up. One who thought things through. One who was wracked with insecurity over being loved. 

The stripped down, acoustic version under Blaine’s couldn’t distract from the rawness in his voice at “ _I’m not okay._ ” The heavy chords filled the empty space. He imagined Kurt there to turn the song back into a proper duet. That Kurt would understand that he never intended to ruin everything. He played louder and started from the beginning.

***

For a moment, Kurt thought he dreamed Blaine into being, although Kurt never once dreamed of watching someone else on stage – _his stage_ \- perform one of _his songs_. (Rachel’s song, technically.) And being moved instead of jealous. He knew Blaine was talented but he never heard him like this. Blaine was such a performer, playing to what he knew people wanted to hear, but he didn’t know he had an audience as Kurt and his cast entered. Kurt stood mesmerized at Blaine pouring himself into a performance he didn’t know he was giving.

His cast – just his friends, now – weren’t so easily distracted. 

“Spy!” Rachel cried, pointing at Blaine accusingly. 

The music stopped. 

“You can’t steal my song on top of Kurt’s role,” Rachel announced with an unamused toss of her hair.

“That’s not how spying works but he stole out idea! We were going to break in first!” Artie protested. 

“Really shouldn’t have wasted all that time getting ready first,” Mike mumbled to Mercedes.

“That way we could have avoided being the second craziest people on the subway,” she agreed.

Santana pushed past Kurt into the theatre, trailed by Tina and Brittany. “Where’s the puppetmaster pulling the strings to make you seem like a real boy?”

“If he’s here, Schuester can’t be far off,” Tina said. 

Blaine, tentative in his own skin, slid the piano lid shut. Kurt could barely hear him across the theatre. “Don’t take him back.” His wide eyes pleaded with Kurt across the theatre.

While originally at the head of the cast, Kurt was passed by every single one of them as they charged forward to chase Blaine off and he stayed rooted in place. All that searching, scouring the city for him, and Blaine just showed up right when Kurt was going to dance and sing that man right out of his hair. Like Nellie in _South Pacific_ , he just as abruptly, traitorously switched to thinking _I’m in love with a wonderful guy_. 

Kurt shook himself to dislodge the thought. He knew better than to be swayed by a pretty voice attached to an even prettier face. Blaine didn’t love him, and probably never had, no matter how Kurt longed to interpret the song Blaine played. He couldn’t let himself fall again. He had to get over feeling like this for Blaine: love-struck, anxious about why Blaine looked so distraught, aching for him. Blaine caused them both to feel like this. He chose to make Kurt miserable. Kurt would reserve his sympathy for himself. 

Kurt got vicious when upset and, as much as he wanted to unleash his frustrations, his feelings about Blaine were still confused enough to want to protect Blaine from that. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of lashing out at Blaine when he just wanted to move on. Kurt closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

*** 

“You can’t just sell us all out and then act broken up about it,” Santana snipped as she stalked toward the stage, the rest of the cast on her heels.

As per usual, Blaine looked for the quickest way out.

Through the curtain he caught a glimpse of a blue suit. Wes. The Warblers never worked alone; others must be in the building. They followed him, of course they followed him. They’d been waiting in the wings for him to work through his emotional turmoil and return with them to Dalton. Another swaying shift of curtain and Wes waited for him with hands clasped behind his back. 

Blaine reared backward without thought for the space around him as the cast flooded down the aisles. He crashed over one of his suitcases. Wes tried to catch him under the arms, dodging the bench and flung out limbs, before gravity won out. The thud of bag and then body silenced the rest of the theatre. Blaine yelped in pain. 

“I need your help here,” Wes called over his shoulder to the wings. He kicked Blaine’s luggage out of the way and dropped to Blaine’s side. Sebastian and Hunter pushed through the curtain, as Blaine predicted they would.

“Wait!” The presence of the Warblers startled Kurt out of his stillness, rushing down the aisle. 

Blaine’s palms stung under his weight. He just repeated himself, over and over, never learning to stop the cycle, re-falling on his injuries. Twice in one day he wound up on the ground, wincing at the pain he caused himself. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

“This is the theatre you’ve been sneaking off to? Not. Worth. It.” Sebastian called loud enough to be meant for everyone’s ears. He threw a nasty sneer toward Santana scowling back at him.

“What do you want with him?” He heard the panic in Kurt’s voice under the hard edge. The Warblers must’ve looked more threatening than they were, descending on him when his blood marked Wes’s suit from where he’d clung earlier. Blaine wasn’t about to call them harmless either, even with Wes’s good intentions.

Wes urged him up. “Let’s get you somewhere private.”

Blaine didn’t allow himself to be led as easily as he had earlier that night. “No.” Somewhere private meant Dalton. He had no intention of returning. “I thought leaving implied I quit.”

Wes lowered his voice as he laid a guiding hand on Blaine’s arm. “I didn’t invite Schuester in. He has nothing to do with Dalton. You’ll be safe again.”

Blaine shook him off. “And the cameras?” 

“You know I didn’t know about that.”

“Exactly!” They weren’t close, but he thought well of Wes, trusted him, until he let Sebastian onto the council to control Blaine’s life and let Hunter have enough rein to steal into Blaine’s room and invade his privacy. He didn’t think of Dalton as safe anymore. He wasn’t going to pretend to be fine and let Wes lead him away.

Wes’s dark eyes softened in the way that led Blaine to think Wes did care about him even if they weren’t quite friends. “I’ll fire Hunter. I’ll kick Sebastian back off the council. You don’t have to do anything extreme.” He touched gently again at Blaine’s arm and Blaine batted him away. 

“We’ll go back to the cab, and then we’ll go back to Dalton.” Wes placated. “It’s for the best.”

Blaine shook his head and refused to budge. Even when Kurt approached. Wes lingered next to Blaine, who continued to push away attempts to help him up. Sebastian and Hunter hovered, unsure what to do and afraid to touch him. 

“The part’s yours again,” Wes said louder to Kurt, stepping away from Blaine’s crumpled form he couldn’t do anything about. “Blaine doesn’t want it anymore. Do what you will with it.”

Kurt tilted his chin high, his eyes sliding over Blaine but not connecting. “That doesn’t sound like Blaine. That sounds like someone with conflicting interests. Like you.”

Blaine laughed at Kurt defending Blaine’s right to _his_ role and it came out a wet choking sob. Kurt’s protective streak still applied to him. They were both more protective of each other than they were of themselves. 

“You know how to win it back by now. If it’s worth it to you. I can’t stop you. I can’t help what any of you decide to do. Kurt . . .” His voice was thick with tears and half-obscured by his struggle to breathe. He looked hideous when he broke down like this. He felt Kurt’s and the cast’s eyes on him. Sebastian wordlessly handed him a handkerchief. “I don’t want to pretend to be okay anymore. I know you want your show. Please want me more. Just be in love with me and everything will be okay.”

“Why did you . . . What are you doing here?” Kurt’s voice took on the breathy quality he got when uncertain.

“Saying goodbye.”

“You didn’t know we were going to be here.” Kurt waited for someone behind him to contradict him and claim their meddling. He was met with only silence. Kurt held perfectly still save for his eyes flicking over Blaine’s strewn luggage. “Where are you going?” 

“California.”

“For the theme parks?”

“For the theme parks,” Blaine confirmed from behind the handkerchief.

“What did you do? What did Schuester do?”

Blaine looked up at Kurt for some sort of absolution. 

At that moment Kurt’s phone sounded with the blaring ringtone of Rhianna’s “Take a Bow” they all knew he used for only one person. Kurt looked anyway. The caller ID flashed “Will Schuester.”

*** 

Kurt thought he’d be over the disbelief stage by this point. Anger ran concurrently, but if anything, disbelief grew stronger. Blaine had that desire to perform but he always put Kurt first. Kurt chose the show but the Blaine he knew wouldn’t do the same. Two days ago, Blaine asked Kurt to run away with him: that had to mean something and a tactic to get Kurt out of the way didn’t fit. Whatever Blaine wanted to run from –whatever the Warblers were discussing that he didn’t understand – it was bad enough for Blaine to refuse to discuss. It had to explain everything that happened since that he couldn’t make sense of.

When Blaine looked up his eyes were wild and wet and Kurt’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t stand seeing Blaine in pain. He had conditions. Newly forming conditions that stipulated what kind of tears and sacrifices were acceptable and what were not. He didn’t understand everything that happened – not yet – but he knew that much. 

He hung up the phone and tossed it down the aisle.

Even after all the doubt of the past 24 hours, he couldn’t refuse to trust Blaine. The man in front of him felt right. Pieces that didn’t make sense before fit into place. Manipulative Blaine he could barely fathom but Blaine in over his head and making rash choices Kurt could see all too clearly.

Kurt winced at the costume pins digging in as he knelt in front of Blaine. He reached tentatively for Blaine’s bent knee to pet or soothe or get Blaine to look at him. Blaine accepted the gesture immediately and Kurt staggered under the force of Blaine’s grasp as “Kurt”s and “I’m sorry”s and tears were pressed into him. Kurt held on tightly. He pet the wild curls.

“I love you. You’re okay. I love you.” Kurt stroked his curls. “It’ll be alright.”

“I ruin everything I touch.”

A small smile tugged on Kurt’s lips at the thought of being ruined by Blaine. He didn’t have that kind of power over him. Miserable without him, definitely. But not ruined. Blaine back in his arms was such a relief. “I love you,” Kurt repeated into his curls. After everything that went wrong, Blaine felt right. 

“It’s just mistake after mistake after mistake.”

“It took me months to convince Will I wasn’t worth his time,” Kurt tutted fondly to calm him, pulling back enough to watch Blaine’s face. “You must’ve done something right.”

Blaine’s lips twisted in a not-quite smile – at least not a pleasant one – that morphed into a cough. “I developed some efficiencies.”

“I always thought you were talented.” Kurt took his scratched up hands. He rubbed his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles soothingly. He could guess where the marks came from and he added them to the list of reasons why he hated Will Schuester to work past later. “I should’ve known. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“You don’t know what it is.” He closed his eyes tight as Kurt kissed his bent head. “I wasn’t supposed to ruin your show. Just him.”

“I should have picked you.” He shouldn’t have had to choose. Shouldn’t have gone near someone like Schuester. Shouldn’t have let him near Blaine either. “I’m the idiot who signed it all away.”

“Just the script, not the songs!” Brittany reminded. 

Tina held her hand over her heart at Kurt and Blaine leaning into each other on the stage floor. “I have _no idea_ what’s going on with you two but I hope I think it’s romantic when you explain yourselves.”

“And you said on one else would get invested,” Rachel scoffed.

The words tugged at Kurt’s memory. “That script belongs to Blaine.” 

Blaine sniffed and pressed closer to Kurt. “Just the silly version. Not the one that matters.”

Artie looked between them incredulously. “Hold up. The one thing we need is a script, you’re sitting on a second version, and no one thinks this is the solution to our problems? If the script’s different we can actually _use_ the footage we came here to get instead of just watching it among ourselves and reminiscing the next time we’re drunk at The Single Ladies’.”

“I don’t have it,” Kurt snipped back.

“I do.” Blaine’s response was barely audible, said just to Kurt. His breath was still shaky.

“You packed it?”

“Of course I packed it. I couldn’t leave it.”

Kurt glanced again at the luggage and wondered what percent of Blaine’s suitcases were filled with keepsakes of no value to anyone else. “Blaine. Honey. Are you okay if we use your script instead?”

“You think it’s embarrassing.” He leaned deeper into Kurt’s shoulder.

“I said _soul-baring_. Maybe that’s what we need.” He could use a reminder of every romantic thought he wrote down about Blaine.

“You know I can never tell you no.”

Kurt thought he was the only one in their relationship who knew that. “Please do if you want to. We’ll figure something else out if we need to.”

Blaine shook his head. “There are some words in there I think it’ll be nice to hear.”

Kurt helped him open the luggage he collided with and pull the script out of its safe space tucked deep inside. “Make sure you take the, um, the sex scene out of the script,” Kurt whispered urgently. “No need for anyone to see that embarrassment.” 

The hard-earned calmness in Blaine’s demeanor vanished. “Kurt, about that…”

“No need to say a word,” Hunter interrupted. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Kurt, I need to tell you everything. I’m not going to act like it doesn’t matter.”

Kurt glared up at Hunter for the role he assumed Hunter played in Blaine’s urgent need to confess something. Whatever Hunter just offered to cover up. “We have all night. You can tell me anything you want.”

“Brittany, you can give Hunter the camera.” Blaine leveled his own severe look at Hunter and the camera as he let Kurt help him to his feet. “I hear you know how to work one of these.”

Brittany recovered her camcorder and a tripod from her bag in the front row. Blaine moved his luggage out of the way with Kurt’s help. Brittany turned on the lights and taught Wes quickly how to run them. Sebastian agreed to help with scene transitions. The night turned into something of an indulgent talent show, opening and closing night combined into what looked more like a table read as they relied on an unfamiliar, shared script with Artie occasionally trying to rein them in to fit his artistic vision. The Warblers made an inexperienced but surprisingly willing crew, each of them seeming happy to make something up to Blaine. Not having an audience has never stopped them before.

The sun started to rise by the time they left the theatre. 

***

Kurt pressed as close to Blaine as possible on their subway ride to the airport. For once he didn’t seem to care about the opinions of their fellow passengers, and Blaine wasn’t about to remind him that he usually wouldn’t allow this. They alternated squeezing hands to remind each other they were there. 

“We should make a plan,” Blaine murmured against Kurt’s crown.He rubbed his thumb along the sleeve of the cardigan Kurt borrowed from him so he could leave his sweat-soaked costume behind.

“You’re leaving.” Kurt hadn’t asked him not too, which was very good of him, because Blaine intended to practice saying no but his exhaustion was liable to beat his resolve. 

“Not forever, I don’t think.” The desire to fly didn’t disappear completely by starting to patch up his relationship with Kurt. He still wanted to breathe free for a while, somewhere new and different that felt like a clean start so when he came back his old life would feel far away and he’d have no choice but to move on. “You could come.”

“I’d like to get things in order here.” He didn’t doubt that Kurt would be well into a new script by the next time Blaine saw him.

“And when I come back?”

“We’ll be honest with each other. Completely. About everything we want from this relationship. Or don’t want.” 

“And I’ll find something to do with my life that’s appropriately obscure. Maybe I could become a singing waiter.” 

Kurt laughed. “Not if you like my current waistline. How about really artistic movies that no one sees?”

“Try out exclusively for flops.” Kurt had stories about plenty of unusual casting calls that he went out for. 

“Do voice acting.”

“For anime, or other foreign films. Not much glory in dubbing over someone else, right?”

“Cirque du soleil,” Kurt said dreamily. 

“ _You_ want to do cirque du soleil.”

“Go on a national tour.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Blaine laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement as they got ready to exit the air train to JFK. “After this. I want to feel like I can stay.”

“I want that too.”

Kurt held out the bag he carried for Blaine and Pavarotti’s birdcage once inside the airport.

Blaine took the bag but hesitated on the cage. “Hold onto him for me?” 

“You’ll have to come back for him.”

“I’ll have to come back,” Blaine agreed.

Kurt looked at the tiny creature in his care hesitantly.

“Kurt, I have had that bird since I was 17 and he’s been fine. I don’t think you have to worry about killing him.”

Kurt didn’t seem convinced but he nodded. Kurt gently set down the cage before flinging his arms around Blaine. “Hurry back.”

***

Kurt had his former agent call Cooper’s agent, and the conversation explaining why Kurt really did need Cooper Anderson’s phone number or address – yes, _the_ Cooper Anderson – at this early hour gave away enough of Kurt’s troubles for Sue to demand he stop by her office and discuss damage control, his reminder that they didn’t work together anymore lost on her.

“Don’t question me. Say ‘thank you, Sue.’”

It was close enough to a memory of Schuester dictating how he should express his gratitude that he paused before sniffing, “don’t tell me what to do.”

Sue required a lot more than borderline-rudeness to be fazed. “Come to my office,” she repeated. “Bring your script. Bring the little disaster too, if you’d like. He sounds like a challenge. More so than you, even.”

He gave her a copy of his script at least once a month for at least the past year; her office should be littered with versions, no doubt unread. How much she’s humoring him in the request he can only guess. He set aside a copy of Blaine’s version and told her maybe she could meet Blaine if he came back. 

He texted Cooper’s phone number to Blaine and waited for him to land. 

***

Blaine made his trip to California and came back with a tan and lighter heart. He visited a theme park and resisted joining the cast. He found Cooper. He expected his brother to be indifferent to him after so much time or resent the obligation to take care of his little brother like he had when they were kids, but Cooper wouldn’t let Blaine out of his sight. He wouldn’t have taken so long if he knew he/d be welcomed back like this. It didn’t take Blaine long at all to realize he was ready to return to his home in New York either.

Wes was more from the Kurt Hummel School of Theory when it came to touching but when he offered his hand upon Blaine’s return Blaine pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.” He decided to leave the thank you unspecific. Five years was a long time to build up reasons even if he was glad to officially move on.

Wes tensed for a moment before wrapping his arms around Blaine. “Don’t be a stranger. Thad will disapprove.”

“Right. Thad. Thad’s the one who’ll miss me.” Giddiness washed over him. His trip to California proved that every time he left somewhere didn’t mean he could never come back. He could move on and still be able to look back. He could visit. He’d _have_ to visit if he wanted to see them: he didn’t have any pictures to remember his time with the Warblers by. Wes probably liked it best that way.

“That’s what I said. Probably not the only one, though. Let us know when you’re ready to go. The Warblers will want to arrange a goodbye.”

Blaine didn’t expect the arrangement to be musical. Or for them to have learned how to sing a capella so they could do it without him. They treated him to a soulful version of _Thank You for the Music_. Blaine held a hand over his heart, boxes at his feet, throughout their performance, and then they helped him out the door.

***

Will and Kurt sorting out their financial entanglements was as messy as an actual break-up. They agreed that neither one would try to incriminate the other when the news broke that the workshop was on hold indefinitely due to “creative differences.” Kurt included Blaine in that deal and then apologized profusely to Blaine for making the decision on his behalf. Blaine shrugged it off.

The finale from _Pippin_ when all the magic disappeared played on a loop inside Kurt’s head as they packed the costumes back up; the alterations were Kurt’s but they couldn’t be separated from the original material. Will had no more use for costumes that fit Kurt’s friends than he did for half a script he clung stubbornly to saying was his now, so the costumes went into storage along with the sets until Kurt had a chance to try a buy them off Will. The bittersweet tune of the song didn’t bring Kurt down. A deal with Will Schuester – a deal knowing everything he did – probably made the metaphorical equivalent of lighting himself on fire. Good on him for avoiding it, as far as he was concerned, and good on his friends for helping to stop him. If he wanted magic and miracles, he could count on his friends and Blaine. 

Blaine gathered up scattered copies of the sheet music. He smoothed out the bent pages and handed them back to Kurt. “Its time will come. So will yours.”

“Once I do the rewrites,” Kurt agreed. The show belonged on a stage with a little more justice done to it than a quick read through in one night with scripts in hand. Brittany edited the recording saying she knew a thing or two about making a viral video. Santana followed closely to make sure there was no nudity to help the hit count. They hadn’t figured out what to do with the video yet but it existed. Kurt had scheduled a meeting with a producer: Sue Sylvester sent Kurt some names around the time she demand once again to meet Blaine “to see what all the fuss was about.” Kurt and Blaine and the potential producer had spoken over the phone already when the producer asked what the revised version would be about.

“It’s about love,” Kurt said at the exact same time Blaine said, “It’s about ambition.”

“Well,” Kurt said with a shy tip of his chin, “that’s a kind of love story.” Blaine beamed through the rest of the interview.

He’d tell the rest of the cast soon, once they wrapped up everything with this version. Kurt was a big believer in getting goodbyes right first. 

Kurt took one last look across the empty stage. Blaine taped the last box shut. “That’s the end. You didn’t get what you wanted. Does it feel like it was all a waste?”

“Of course not, dummy.” 

Kurt entwined their hands and they walked out of the theatre together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few final notes now that this story is wrapped up, the first being the most important. Feel free to skip the rest. 
> 
> 1) Thank you for reading and commenting! It’s been lovely. Thank you for the encouragement through my first foray into fandom. 
> 
> 2) I’d like to find an in-fandom beta. My beta is fabulous but we have an understanding that we know nothing of the canon the other’s building off of. So, if you’re intensely in love with Glee and don’t mind hypothetically dealing with my neuroses, please let me know?
> 
> 3) As hinted above, active participating in fandom instead of observing from afar is new to me and I’ve been terrible about getting to know people. If you feel like saying hi, please do so. 
> 
> Thanks again!


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